Reign of Fire
by Achaewa
Summary: The game of thrones becomes the least of Westeros' problems when the Wild Hunt descends upon its lands in search of Cirilla of Cintra, a mysterious girl with ashen hair, who is only trying to piece together the mystery of a past she does not remember and she will cut through half of Westeros if it means uncovering the truth. A Witcher, Elder Scrolls and Game of Thrones Crossover.
1. Chapter 1: Lone Hound and Cub

I know this a repost of the same story that I put up in March, but I've rewritten it so many times that it is quite different from when I first wrote it - hence the repost. Dialogue has been retouched and inconsistencies fixed.

Before you begin reading, you might wonder why this story is Elder Scroll/Game of Thrones instead of Witcher/Game of Thrones, as Ciri is the protagonist. Simple reason: I find her interesting and her ability to travel between worlds made her perfect to use. The Daedra can function as both hero and villain and fit quite well into the lore of ASoIaF.

A more cynical reason is that I would get less hits if it was categorized under the latter.

When it comes to romance, I haven't decided and I'm not sure I'll do it, unless it is something that you my dear readers truly want.

Ciri is not the Dragonborn, but it is tagged to give you an idea of her as a protagonist. The fact that there is no Ciri tag under Witcher, renders it moot either way.

I answer review questions through private messaging so if you are confused, you can always pm me.

Rating is for violence, language and mature themes.

Anyway here is the story, I hope you'll enjoy. :-)

 **Reign of Fire  
** **Chapter 1: Lone Hound and Cub**

" _The Wolf's Blizzard approaches, the time of the sword and axe. The Time of the White Frost and White Light, the Time of Madness and Disdain, Tedd Deireadh, the Final Age. The world will perish amidst ice and be reborn with the new sun. Reborn of the Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of a planted seed. A seed that will not sprout but burst into flames!"_ \- Ithlinne's Prophecy

" _Awake Child of Prophecy," a pleasant voice whispered like it was carried with the wind. "Wake up Cirilla."_

Ciri awakened with a gasp, trying to satiate her lungs craving for air, her heart beating at an unstoppable rate. She was lying down, on top of something soft and slightly squishy. Rain was falling around her, drenching her clothes. It was dawn and the early rays of the sun fought a valiant battle to break through the ranks of thick storm clouds. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. A rank smell with a tinge of sweetness hang in the air, lightly masked by the downpour.

She felt exhausted, as if someone had given her a good beating, then challenged her to a drinking contest and thrown her in a ditch when the contest inevitably turned to a fight. Her throat was sore and parched, and her chest ached as if she had been punched there repeatedly.

From her perspective, she could see she was lying in a great ditch and the rain slid down its sides, muddying the earth. She lay there for what felt like minutes, gathering her strength and trying to gain her bearings. She coughed and tried to get up, only to jerk back and slide down when she became aware of her surroundings. Ciri let out a groan as she raised her upper body, brushing wet hair out of her face. She was in a mass grave. The corpses of men and women lay around her in various states of decay and twisted positions.

It was as she looked up that she saw what had served as her cushion. A great hulking beast, its fur marred with blood and stab wounds, and rotting flesh hanging out of where its head should have been. It had most likely been a wolf, but far larger than any she had seen for a long time.

"Where the hell am I," she spoke to herself with a whisper. The howling wind her only response as the rain served as a melancholic companion in the somber surroundings.

She lost her footing as she tried stand up, slipping on a pauldron, rolling down several corpses before hitting the muddy ground, front first, coming to a stop before the body of a pregnant woman. Lifeless eyes gazing upon the cloudy skies. She was pretty with dark hair and eyes that once held warmth, she would likely have been a beautiful mother. Ciri closed her eyes, lay a hand on her stomach as she kneeled before her. Mumbling a small prayer for her and whatever child or children she might have had. She did not herself believe in gods but it felt appropriate. She closed the deceased woman's eyes and kissed her on the forehead. As she finally stood up it was with a cold expression in her eyes.

This was no grave for men who fell in battle, it was one for a massacre, one where none were spared. Men and women slaughtered like common animals. Ciri was no stranger to war and she would hardly describe herself as a saint, but atrocities like these where not even unborn children were spared, were even beyond her capabilities of evil and as she climbed out of the grave, her fingers itching with the desire to kill once again.

 **The Inn Between the Worlds  
** **Two Hours Earlier  
** The tavern was vibrant with music and raucous laughter from its patrons. Voluptuous barmaids snaked their way through the labyrinthine mess that was tables, drunkards, other employees and the occasional groping hand from both men and women. All the while a burly man with long red hair and a full beard tended the bar. His name was Ted Truconis and he was known far and wide in the cosmos as a man one could always trust to offer you a stiff drink. As long as you behaved within the confines of his tavern.

In a corner of the tavern, lit up by a massive chandelier, was an elaborate wooden table relatively secluded by the cacophonous sounds of the patrons and musicians. Snow could be seen falling outside, through the window at the table end, painting the landscape white as the wind howled.

Three characters were sat at the table; a young woman with two older individuals adjacent to her, both indistinguishable in age. A few thick candles burned slowly in the window-sill and their flames danced softly as they illuminated the old wood with warm colors.

One of these individuals was a sultry woman with a mane of curly black hair and a pair of eyes the color of honey, each with a mischievous glint in them. She was clad in a teal dress, that hugged her curves and displayed an ample amount of cleavage. Able to make all but the most resolute of mortals go mad with desire. This was a female form of Sanguine, Daedric Prince of Debauchery and Hedonism.

The other person, sitting closest to the tavern floor, was a man clad in much more conservative attire. Hand at the ready for any new order. He was dressed in a purple three-piece suit with golden threads and a double-breasted waistcoat. He had a big bushy handlebar mustache that matched his grey hair. A monocle rested in his right eye, placed on his head was a black top hat and a pair of white gloves fit snugly to his hands. This was Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness and the one who had gathered the two others.

The last of the table's three occupants was a human female known simply as Ciri. Notable among the patrons of the Inn for her travels through the cosmos, exploring new worlds and spending considerable time with their inhabitants. Nevertheless, no matter how much she quenched her thirst for adventure. She would always return to the Inn Between the Worlds, order a drink and sit for hours at a table, staring out into the nothingness as if she carried a great burden that never lessened.

She was dressed in fine, if travel worn attire. A cotton cream white shirt tucked into a dark brown leather underbust corset. A shiny silk stripe ran horizontally above an adequately sized bust with a simple bow knot holding it together. Ensuring that her loose shirt did not slide down her shoulders. She wore a pair of dark brown leather pants with brass studs and her feet fit snugly into a pair of light brown leather boots with sturdy heels. Her sleeves were held up by a pair of thick leather garters and on her hands she wore dark brown suede leather gloves that went to her elbows.

A silver belt with turquoise blue gems fit tightly around her waist, adding additional tightness to her corset and beneath it was a simple dark blue snakeskin belt with a gold buckle. Two travel bags were secured firmly to it; the smaller one resting on her left thigh with the larger hanging at the small of her back.

She stood tall at five foot seven with a body made for combat; athletic yet appealing with soft curves met by taut muscle. She had hair the shade of silver with streaks of white and a beautiful face with clearly defined features that made for a smoldering look that commanded attention. Her lips were full and red. Light freckles ran across the bridge of a straight nose and her somewhat smeared eye shadow only helped make her eyes stand out.

Despite her obvious beauty. It was her eyes that always caught attention as they were like no other. Her irises were a vibrant emerald green with flecks of gold surrounding the pupils.

The only thing marring her features were two straight scars on her right cheek and a large curved one on her left, running from beneath her eye towards her earlobe, which she halfheartedly tried to cover it with a strand of hair.

Just another piece in the puzzle of her life and one she longed to solve. Who was she? Why could she travel between the worlds? No matter how far she scoured the cosmos she never found what she was looking for. Left only with broken memories she did not understand. Haunted by flashbacks of people she could not recall. As if the answer to all her question were right at her fingertips only to disappear in smoke. The only thing she knew for certain was her name and that she could fight and survive.

Maybe that was why she walked from world to world. A futile attempt at compensating for a lost past, and no matter how much time she spent in each of them, she would always return to the astral planes. Doomed to wander the cosmos as a woman barely past her twentieth year. A stark reminder of what she would never have.

Ciri stretched her arms and took a swill from her tankard. Intently studying her two opponents as they all tried to outwit each other in a game of Wicked Grace. None of them had managed to gain the upper hand. A common problem when equal minds thought alike.

Sanguine was the first to break everyones concentration as she spoke in a seductive tone. "Friends! Tell me...what is a game of cards without a wager?"

"A most splendid idea my buxom beauty!" Sheogorath ejaculated loudly, throwing his cards on the table and fixed his monocle. Sanguine sent him an alluring look and a wink as the Prince of Madness signaled for another round of mead.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea..." Ciri smiled faintly, speaking in a subdued tone as Sanguine began to reshuffle the deck.

"Come on!" Sanguine exclaimed, putting a hand around Sheogorath's shoulder as they both looked at her with waiting eyes. "Live a little, we'll make it worth your while."

Ciri leaned back, letting out a breath of air and waited for the barmaid to serve their new order of drinks. "Ah, what the hell...I only got an eternity after all."

"As for the prize..." Sanguine let the words roll off her tongue.

The Daedra leaned back in her seat, running a hand through lush curls, seeming to ponder the subject. She suddenly leaned sideways towards Sheogorath, a hand before their faces as they began whispering in each others ears and shooting Ciri a glance now and then. It felt like several minutes had passed before they pulled away from each other, giggling like little schoolgirls.

Sheogorath fixed his hat and took a sip from his tankard, waiting to speak until Sanguine had returned to her original seating. "My dear Ciri, we have the perfect prize for this wager."

"And what would that be?" Ciri eyeballed the daedra, she did not like how they both looked at her, not one bit.

"There is a place we've heard of, a far and distant world," Sanguine told her with a sultry smile as she caressed the handle of her tankard. "If we win. You'll go there willingly...on a grand adventure...and report to us your findings...especially ones concerning...artifacts of power."

"And if I win," Ciri asked, tapping her fingers on the wooden tabletop.

"Let's say we've heard a little bird sing about something of yours," Sanguine singsonged, smacking her lips and continued as the silver haired girl leaned forward, "We would be willing to assist you in acquiring this...something...if and only if you win.

Ciri bit her lower lip and glared at the Daedra. "You found something that belonged to me? Something that might shed light on my past and you won't divulge on it unless I win a fucking game!"

Sanguine crossed her arms with a haughty smirk and spoke as if what she said was the most obvious in the universe. "I'm a daedra, Darling. Everything's a game to me."

"Would it lift your mood if we helped you out even if you lose?" Sheogorath cut in, placing his fist against his lips before suddenly pointing a finger in the air, "and I'll see to it that you'll get a years worth of cheese! How about a nice camembert to begin with?"

Ciri inhaled deeply and calmed down, you could never truly stay mad with Sheogorath as company. "Fine, but you better not be lying."

"Darling, how could you think such things of us?" Sanguine held a hand on her breast, seeming taken aback, "when have we ever lied to you?"

Ciri let out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh there was the time..."

"So what'll it be, Sweetheart?" Sanguine cut in, resting her head in both hands as she leaned over the table, "if you win. We'll help you find out about your past, but if we win you'll have an exciting adventure in a new world. And we'll help you out with this thing of yours."

"Sounds like a win win to me!" Sheogorath exclaimed as he popped his monocle back in his eye, "and hey, maybe you'll even find out something along the way."

"It sounds to me, like losing is already set in stone," Ciri commented before she downed the last mead in her tankard.

"A lot is set in stone, My Dear," Sanguine laughed heartily as she dealt their cards and both of them snickered as their human friend made the first move. Obviously eager to win.

"Seems like we found ourselves a loser and you were so cocksure," Sanguine giggled as all three had thrown their cards down an hour later. She looked at the girl before her and leaned across the table, getting a good look at the cards, while Sheogorath held his fist before himself and proclaimed, "yesh!"

"Too bad, Sweetie," Sanguine gloated as she slid back, "I guess your soul searching has to wait till after you've returned."

Ciri wore a stoic expression and stared emptily across the table, she then exhaled and shook her head. Adjusting her sight on the two daedra. "What can you tell me about this world?"

"Newly discovered, backwaters, though one of the few we're able to play with as it has an inert connection to Mundus," Sanguine informed and straightened her back, placing her hand on top of Ciri's. "What we can't do yet is take on a corporeal form within it. Not enough magical energy flowing through or some such..."

"What my sister is trying to say is that since you're not bound to a realm like we are, you are free to enter it without repercussions!" Sheogorath cut in, gesticulating wildly as he began explaining. "Magic is returning to that world and your presence will only hasten its arrival, thus strengthening its connection to Mundus."

"And you want me to just what? Walk from place to place, meet people, go on adventures, change the world until I find something that might interest you?"

"Oh, Darling. Haven't you learned by now?" Sanguine deadpanned and pointed a finger at the aforementioned person, "you either change the world or it will change around you."

"My good woman!" The Prince of Madness, adjusting his monocle, "the world you'll fast travel to will be one of...ICE AND FIRE!"

"Certainly something to write a song about," Sanguine commented with a faint giggle, placing her legs on the oak table while rolling a silver amulet between her fingers.

"Now, Cupcake! You look absolutely ready for an adventure, you always do, but you lack weapons," Sheogorath spoke loudly, gathering their empty cups and placing them on the tray carried by a passing barmaid, "and I'm not talking about those little spells of yours, though effective they are."

"Hey, those spells have helped me through some of my best adventures," Ciri grinned, speaking with faux annoyance. Barely managing to catch the medallion that Sanguine threw at her. It was shaped like a wolf's head and made of solid silver with two small rubies making out its eyes.

"It's called a Witcher's medallion," the Daedra explained, folding her arms. "It is sensitive to magic and will vibrate and heat up in the presence of supernatural energies. A good warning and tracking system."

"A Witcher's medallion," Ciri repeated as she turned it around in her hand. It was as if she had seen one before, but she could not for the love of her, remember when or where. She put an end to her introspection and pulled the leather cord, attached to the ring at the medallion's top, over her head. Letting it rest just above her cleavage.

"And you'll need this map too," Sheogorath spoke, pulling forth a sturdy scroll of vellum from beneath the table, handing it to Ciri.

"A map of the world?" She enquired as she rolled out the scroll, studying the numerous landmasses drawn upon it.

"It will show you, your exact location and can even increase and decrease the areas it depicts. Except for interiors, caverns and underground structures for some reason. Anyway, they're all the rage in Tamriel.

"You said something about weapons, did you not Sheo?"

"Yes, dear sister," Sheogorath groaned.

Ciri cracked a smirk as she held up her hands. "I do have these."

"My Dear! Were you so taken by my beauty that you didn't listen? Magic or hand-to-hand combat simply won't suffice, you'll need weapons with a bit more bite to them," Sanguine spoke with indignation, followed closely by a mumble only she and her brother could hear, "Especially with the enemies you'll face."

Sanguine reached beneath the table and procured an exquisitely crafted sword in a red leather scabbard, its locket and chape made of finely hammered steel together with a curved dagger in a similar sheath. The Daedra slid the two blades across the table. Placing them before the woman.

As Ciri took hold of the sword's hilt a jolt of energy shot through her and she released it with a gasp. Jumbled images came to her mind, depicting weapons identical to the ones before her, had she used it before?

Gathering herself she grasped the sword and pulled it from its sheath. It was of fine make with a silver colored, vaguely leaf-shaped blade that tapered into a spear-point. The blade was pattern welded with alternating bands of light and dark running along the fuller in intricate contours, forming what appeared to be a celtic knot. Two-thirds of the grip was covered in black leather before giving way to naked steel blending into a pommel that took the shape of four wolf heads. The crossguard was upswept with the chappe rising to form a triangle with a blue sapphire on each side.

Ciri let out an appreciative laugh as she read the runes inscribed along both sides of the crossguard. "When they seek to oppress you. And when they try to destroy you," she whispered, tracing the runes with her fingers. Turning the sword around to continue, "rise and rise again and again. Like The Phoenix from the ashes. Until the Lambs have become Lions and the Rule of Darkness is no more."

Ciri beamed as she sheathed the longsword. She knew Maitreya and the Holy Book of Destiny well, and the inscriptions on the sword were a play on one of its quotes.

"Words to live by, especially if you carry a big stick," Sanguine commented, offering Ciri a playful wink.

"A silver sword!" Sheogorath clapped his hands and chuckled as Ciri remained silent in thought from the earlier influx of memories. "Best suited for monsters...and humans!"

"Technically it is made of an enchanted steel silver alloy, thus the pattern welding," Sanguine said out loud as the human woman came to her senses. The Daedra summoned forth a baldric and attached the silver sword to it. "The blade will never chip and the edge will never dull."

Ciri awarded them with a smile and drew the dagger. It was a foot long curved seax, with a sharpened clip point, its appearance reminiscent of a bowie knife. The handle was of dark lacquered rosewood decorated with gold, the blade like the sword was pattern welded with the characteristic bands of light and dark running along both sides, like vines twisting and turning towards the point.

Ciri stood up, fastened the dagger to her belt and slung the baldric over her right shoulder, after the Daedra handed it to her. She fastened the belt strops, making sure everything was in order and placed Sheogorath's map in the her small travel bag.

"In the world you're going to they have something called Valyrian steel. Which is better, faster, harder and stronger than regular steel," Sheogorath notified her, pointing at the silver sword. "Your sword not only resembles it. It is better because it has one major improvement. It can slay monsters!"

"Now! Everything seems to be in order." Sanguine said jovially as she stood up together with Sheogorath, rubbing her hands while walking around Ciri. "You got weapons, you got pouches and bags of holding..."

"All set to go?"

Sanguine gave her a warm smile, placing herself before her, gazing into her eyes. Placing a finger on the Witcher's medallion. "Keep that amulet close to heart."

"Will you at least tell me where I'll be landing?" Ciri asked.

She never got an answer as Sheogorath gave her a salute moments before Sanguine activated whatever spell she had been preparing. Ciri disappeared in a flash of blinding light followed by a minor shockwave that knocked all in the vicinity, but the daedra down.

Ted Truconis simply stared at them with a none too amused expression as the screaming died down, wagging his finger at the two daedra, before turning around to clean some glasses.

"You think we should've told her that the silver sword and medallion were hers to begin with?" Sanguine asked as order fell upon the tavern and the musicians began playing once again.

"Our darling girl will discover a great many things on this journey of hers, least of all the truth of her past, and I fear that when it comes to its inevitable end. It will be the last time we'll ever see her," Sheogorath replied in a surprisingly balanced manner. "No, your concern is unfounded."

"So the swallow has finally left the nest," a voice spoke behind the two daedra, coming from a lithe, majestic woman with dark hair and piercing amethyst eyes. "That has truly been long overdue."

"Of course. Who would've thought that gathering two trinkets in the vastness of the multiverse would be so time consuming, Nocturnal." Sanguine snickered as she and her brother acknowledged their sister.

Nocturnal let out a huff of air as she placed herself between the two. "You believe the plan will work? The magic that has been awakened has drawn not just our interest, but the interest of outside powers too."

"Dark tidings are on the horizon and if all do their part...we might weather the storm." Sheogorath spoke, returning to his seat. "The events about to unfold will be most interesting...and sooner or later our heroine will realize...that there is a difference between knowing ones fate and choosing ones destiny...and the decision she makes then will have considerable consequences for not just the multiverse, but the life of our dear fledgling herself."

"I don't even know what that means?" Sanguine added.

"She's just a girl, barely a woman..." Nocturnal spoke softly, a hint of skepticism in her voice. "How could she possibly weather this coming storm, you talk about?"

"That is why we must guide her and set aside our personal squabbles," Sheogorath replied, picking up a wayward card and turned it around, the image of a white haired girl clear on its surface. "We can only hope she will live up to her legacy, not only for our sakes, but for hers too...isn't that right, Cirilla."

 **Westeros  
** **Present Time  
** Ciri brushed the dirt off her clothes to the best of her abilities as the rain continued to pour down around her. She refastened her weapons and positioned her medallion so it rested in the valley of her breasts. Taking a deep breath, she turned around to look at the mass grave. The bodies had been stripped for valuables and thrown in with absolute disregard for the dead.

She took a deep breath and focused her magic in her right hand. She could feel the arcane energies coursing through her veins as her hand lit up with holy fire. Letting out a yell she focused it all in the palm of her hand and threw it at the grave. Lighting it up in an all consuming fire, allowing if not the dead then herself some closure. Satisfied with her work, she tied her hair up in a loose bun, turned around and walked towards the dirt road leading into the forest, the flames framing her figure.

She was in Westeros from the looks of it. Sheogorath's map displayed her position with a silver arrow that she had zoomed in on. She folded the map together, put it back in her leather bag and took out a grey cloak with a brooch formed like a green leaf with silver veins. Wrapping it around herself, she moved out from the tree crown that had provided her shelter. The heavy rain had lightened and as the sun rose further into the sky, the clouds gave way and animal sounds filled her ears with music. A pleasant change from the drumming of falling rain.

It was not long before Ciri felt the all too familiar rumble in her stomach, magic was just as taxing on the body as physical work and the only food she had consumed lately was mead and some crackers with cheese. It was no surprise that she was hungry already, the fact that she might have vomited upon some rotten corpses most likely played a factor too.

It was upon rounding a curve in the road that her hunger truly got the best of her as her nostrils caught the faint smell of roasting meat. She could hear laughter too and her legs subconsciously moved faster down the muddy road. She rubbed her parched throat on the way, the few raindrops clinging to a few large leaves had proved inadequate in quenching her thirst.

As the laughing intensified, she finally got a good look at where it came from. Four men dressed in ragged clothes and dirty armor sat in a rough circle, talking jovially and drinking from a shared leather sack while a rabbit roasted above the glowing embers of a humble fire. Their horses tied to a tree a few feet away and their weapons and shields resting against the trees.

"I'm telling you, that's what she did!" One of the men, the only one standing, spoke jovially followed by him trying to imitate what Ciri could only describe as the sound of a cow in heat. This was of course followed by the raucous laughter of his friends.

"Sounded like a cow in heat!" The standing, now sitting man, added. Confirming Ciri's postulation.

"Aye, not for long," one of the other men commented.

"That's right. Black Walder shut her up right quick," the third man in the group continued, taking a swill from his canteen. "None of the Starks had much to say about the end of that meal."

As the laughter died down once again, the first man, having helped himself to a piece of meat began talking again. "I tell you what though. The hardest thing was getting that wolf's head to stay on the body."

"You sewed it on?" The fourth man spoke skeptically.

"I did."

"I bet there were a thousand men claiming they were the one."

"It was me," the formerly standing man said confidently. "...and Malcolm and Talbott..."

"The thing was so heavy..." the man defended himself over the laughter of his friends, but stopped as it was only now he became aware of the female figure approaching from down the road.

Ciri was not one to smile without reason, but she did try to put on a friendly facade. She raised a hand in greeting. No need to kill anyone for a morsel to eat and something to drink, though with what she had already seen of this world, it might well just be necessary. They were all leering at her with hungry eyes.

"Eh, greetings gentlemen!" Ciri enunciated loudly, "I was just out on a lovely stroll through these picturesque lands, when it dawned on me that I had failed to prepare the necessary sustenance for such an endeavor. Alas, fortune seems to have favored the bold as I came upon the lovely aroma of a sturdy meal and what appears to be...friendly company."

"And who might you be stranger?" The man who had imitated a cow stood up, studying the woman before him with scrutiny. Ciri fought the urge to retch as his eyes lingered on her curves. His face lit up with a nasty smile as he pulled a long blood smeared knife from his belt. His three compatriots too had risen, their swords at the ready.

"Why don't you fuck off!" One of them spat.

"HEY!" Ciri snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the men. "You watch your fucking mouth! All I desired was to enquire if you...upstanding gentlemen...would spare some of your meal for a weary traveller. I was being overly polite and what do I get? Insults slung in my face."

"Well little girl, what are you willing to pay?" one of the men asked suggestively, giving her a toothy grin. All of them were either oblivious to the sword on her back or they seriously underestimated her because of her looks.

Ciri sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. Maybe her choice of words should have been simpler. People could be so uncooperative, especially ones from such a backwater world. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms. They stood like that for a few seconds until she broke the silence.

"Then I guess I just have to kill you."

The men looked at each other and let out a collective laugh that seemed to go on forever. Ciri rolled her eyes and simply waited for them to finish. It was the man with the knife, their de facto leader, who seemed the first to compose himself. He looked at her and then his men and bellowed, "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GET HER!"

"WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!" Ciri hollered, signaling for the men to stop with a hand, miraculously halting their charge. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Dead quiet hung around them, as four pair of eyes contemplated each other before setting on the fifth. A nasty smile on each dirty face, allowing one a good look at fine examples of subpar dental hygiene.

The man with the knife let out an evil chuckle. "We're gonna have fun with you girl."

The man let out a battle cry as he lunged towards Ciri, knife zooming towards her abdomen. Ciri let out an exasperated sigh and set her eyes on her opponent. Just as the knife was centimeters from her body, she stepped aside. Sending a hard kick downwards. Hitting her opponent on the knee. The kneecap gave out with a nasty snap as the man's leg bend backwards. She drew her dagger swiftly and drove it upwards, with her left hand, and through her enemy's trachea. Lifting him up, as he gurgled blood and threw him in the dirt. Finishing him off with a hard stomp to the throat. Making the blood explode out his throat.

She quickly bend over backwards, avoiding a swipe from one of the three remaining men. Making him stumble as he overextended his reach. Letting out a laugh she got up and pulled her silver sword from its sheath. Swapping aside a thrust from a second hostile with her dagger. Redirecting the sword in her right hand so it travelled below the soldier's arm and sliced his stomach open. He let out a gurgling sound, dropped his sword and walked a few steps forward before collapsing as his intestines spilled out.

Ciri turned around, letting out a satisfied huff, studying her two remaining opponents, both gasping for air, struck speechless at having just seen a "little girl" cut down their two friends like it was nothing. The aforementioned girl smirked and pointed her sword at the man to her right. Sheathing her dagger to place both hands on its grip.

The man to her right let out a roar and swung at her, closely followed by his ally. Ciri blocked a downward swipe, closely followed by a parry to the left. Working in tandem the two men managed to drive her back. The sound of metal against metal echoing through the woods. The three of them moving in a flurry of moves. But if one studied them closely, only Ciri did not seem out of breath.

Digging her left foot down in the dirt, she stomped on her right opponents foot, making him howl in pain. Twisting her torso, she avoided a lunge from the man to her left. Grabbing his wrist and twisting his joint. Breaking it. Making him drop his sword. She then smacked him in the face with the flat side of her blade. Cutting through his ear as she directed it over his head and drove it towards the throat of the man to her right. Slicing through his carotid artery all the way to the cervical vertebrae. Bathing his friend in a shower of blood as the former clutched the side where his ear should have been.

Ciri threw the man aside as he drowned in his own blood. Using the distraction to drive her knee into her last foe's nether region. He let out a strangled noise as he was grabbed by the throat and thrown into the ground.

"I told you I didn't want to fight!" Ciri spat in the downed man's blood covered face. "And now you're going to die over a fucking rabbit."

"NO WAIT!" the Frey soldier begged, holding up a hand as Ciri positioned her sword above his breast.

"All because you couldn't keep it in your pants," she spoke coldly. "Now squeal like a fucking pig!"

The Frey soldier let out an ear-piercing scream as Ciri drove her sword through his gambeson and chest cavity like it was made of paper. She pushed it down as slowly as possible as the man's screams echoed through the forest. Only to be replaced by the most uncomfortable of choking sounds as he coughed up copious amounts of blood.

"Enough of this shit!" Ciri exclaimed, pulling her sword out and moved to kneel above him, placing her right hand to hover above the man's face. Ciri closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opened them again and leered at her victim, softly speaking, "goodnight."

Those were the last words the hapless man beneath her heard as his head exploded in a shower of skull fragments, blood and grey goo. Forming a nice half circle around Ciri's hand.

She dried off her sword with the dead man's clothes, stood up and placed it back in its sheath. She cracked her neck and stretched her arms. Letting out a satisfied moan as she placed herself on one of the tree trunks surrounding the humble fire. She took out her dagger, wiped it on her pants and cut off a leg on the long forgotten rabbit speared on the rotisserie. Fat still sizzling from its meat.

"Hmm, still warm," She commented and munched down on the leg. "Could've used some seasoning."

Never fight on an empty stomach, an old friend had once told her, it leaves you in such bad humor. She shook her head and cut off another piece. Eating in content bliss till she had satisfied her hunger and quenched her thirst with one of the discarded canteens.

Ciri washed her hands with the water from a bota bag hanging from one of the horses and dusted herself off. Sitting down in front of the fire to dry her hands and thought about the men she had just killed. She should feel bad for taking four lives without a second thought, but then again, they did insinuate that they were going to take her against her will.

Sometimes she longed to return to worlds where all problems could be solved by the goodness of ones heart and a happy ending was within reach for all. However she could never talk herself into going back. Living in such worlds as an outsider was taxing on her mind. For the happier she had been. The harder were the effects of returning to the astral planes on her psyche. The reality of her life a stark contrast to the joy she had experienced. It was not all bad though and she would never trade the friends and loved ones she had gained throughout the years for all the power in the multiverse.

As Ciri sat there reminiscing, hands in front of the fire, she did not sense the forest growing dead silent, as if even the insects did not chance to venture forth. A black smoke snook upon her. Moving from tree to tree. Each time gaining a more visible corporeal form. The foliage in its vicinity seeming to retreat into non-existent shells. It was only when it was almost upon her that she froze, her medallion vibrating at a superfluous rate, its warmth almost burning her skin.

She pulled her arms back as if to warm herself, as she felt the towering presence looming behind her. The air smelled like ash and a cold chill ran along the forest floor. Her left hand slowly moving towards her dagger, ready to strike. Letting out a roar she jumped up, spinning around with her dagger in a reverse grip, ready to drive into the face of this unknown attacker. She was stopped dead in her tracks as an armored fist closed around her throat, lifting her into the air. Glowing red eyes, belonging to a massive figure clad in black spiked armor, looked straight into her own. The segmented plates on its armored hand digging into her flesh.

It was a wraith raider, tall as a mountain with a helmet resembling a spiky crown, its face covered with a metal mask taking the form of a human skull. Red eyes shining through its holes like burning embers. It let out a deep rumbling laugh as it tightened the grip around Ciri's throat.

It drew her near to its face and spoke calmly with a deep thunderous voice as the wind whirled up the fallen leaves around them. "Child of Prophecy! Heed my words. The comet has been sighted. It is an ill omen. A harbinger of disaster and war. Resistance is futile. My King beckons for your soul. There is no escape from the Wild Hunt."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ciri wheezed, having dropped her seax as she tried to pry the Wraith's hand open.

It simply chuckled at her. "All will soon be revealed, Zireael!"

The Wraith's eyes seemed as if they were peering into her soul as it drew her nearer. It let out a bellowing roar as it squeezed its fist shut around her neck. Placing its other hand on her head. Ciri cried out in pain as the feeling of ten thousand volts coursed through her veins, burning her body from within as she was shown images beyond her comprehension. Shadows of a life she did not recall. She was running. Wounded. Hunted. Scared out of her mind.

The pain only intensified as the Wraith dug its fingers into her skull and her mind gave way to the sensory overload. She could feel her essence flow through her as if the Wraith was draining the very life from her body. It felt like hours had passed before it was satisfied with whatever it had done. The Wraith released a deep muffled laugh as it raised Ciri further into the air and slammed her into ground. Her head hitting the tree trunk she had sat on. She let out a pained groan and rolled over. The Wraith gazing upon her broken form.

"You've ventured beyond the map, Princess, here there be dragons!" The Wraith chuckled and turned around. Its movements seemed slow as Ciri's vision began to darken.

"Your life and this world belongs to my king. None can escape the Wild Hunt!" Those were the last words she heard before darkness enveloped him in its cold embrace.

 **Vale of Arryn  
** **The Eyrie  
** Petyr Baelish stalked through the long corridors of the Eyrie, stronghold of House Arryn, at a steady pace, heading towards the former study of the long deceased Lord of the Vale, which together with his title had become the former Master of Coin's.

The careful orchestration of the former Hand's killing, still brought a wave of joy to Baelish's otherwise cold facade. Witnessing his schemes play out perfectly was one of the few things that brought him delight in life, other than pining for a woman he now could never have. The Lannisters and their lackeys had made a grave mistake by killing his love Caitlin and they would pay dearly for it. Petyr already had plans set in motion for the coming royal wedding. The Lannisters would be one family member less and Sansa would finally be free from their clutches. Together they would accomplish great things.

The ancient oak door leading into Jon Arryn's study was sturdy and the hinges whined and groaned as they turned. Row after row of bookshelves hugged the stone walls and piles of parchment littered the floor. Lit candles illuminated the room from their candelabras and in the far end, near the stained glass window, stood the monolithic wooden desk where the new Lord of the Vale usually spent most of his day.

It was raining outside and the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the castle walls made for a cozy if dull atmosphere. The soft rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Petyr closed the door behind him and turned around, only to stop immediately as he noticed a figure sitting leisurely in his chair. If it was not for years of schooling his emotions and performing similar tricks, the former Master of Coin would have had quite the startled expression on his face. Never before had anyone attempted nor succeeded in surprising him.

He folded his arms behind his back and moved slowly, but steadily towards the figure, his lips pulled up in the usual vague smirk that he always sported. The figure before him was clad in black with a cloak thrown over his shoulders and a hood covering his face, framing it in darkness. His fine black leather boots were placed firmly on Baelish's desk, whoever or whatever he was, afraid was not one of them.

"I must commend you, stranger, rarely has any man managed to sneak into my personal quarters without my knowledge," Baelish spoke softly, his dark eyes fixed on the man before him, or was it a man? The folds in the strangers clothes hinted at something else.

Petyr's query was answered as the stranger pulled the hood back to reveal a feminine face and a mop of wild black hair that looked as if it had been hit by a lightning strike. What surprised him most though where her yellow cat like eyes with matching slit pupils and her ash grey almost black skin.

"I can assure you Lord Baelish. That I am not just a man," the stranger spoke in an almost mocking tone, sporting the same kind of smirk that Baelish wore. Her eyes studying him like a tiger contemplating whether to kill or toy with her prey.

"I see that you know my name," Baelish replied. In any other situation he would have his men throw this strange woman out of the Moon Door, but something about the stranger and her looks told him that choosing that course of action would be foolhardy. Something about her demeanor, even the air around her emanated of danger and deceit.

"Of course I do, who does not know of the meteoric rise of the once lowly Lord Baelish," the woman spoke, resting her hands on her legs, each fingertip touching each other. "I must say, your machinations have been most delightful to witness."

Petyr quirked an eyebrow slightly. What did this woman know?

"Convincing Lady Arryn to poison her late husband, borrowing money from the Iron Bank, framing the Lannisters, running the realm's treasury into the ground, provoking a war between old families...oh I could go on for hours," the stranger let out a satisfied moan and leaned further back in Baelish's chair. "Let's just say that you have brought me great joy in these dull times."

"I am pleased to find you satisfied," Baelish answered remaining calm despite the stranger revealing knowledge that only he was privy to. "But I fear you have made a grave mistake in revealing yourself."

"Come now Mister Baelish, you enjoy this just as much as I do," the ash skinned stranger commented, waving her hand nonchalantly as if the unspoken threat of death had gone unnoticed. "However, I can assure you that what I can offer you is far more worth than troubling your guards with killing me."

"Tell me then what you have to offer?" Petyr enquired, his eyes narrowing slightly as his mind worked overtime on how to deal with this stranger if the information she had was inadequate. She knew far too much about him.

The stranger simply smiled and replied, "Knowledge is power Mister Baelish and I can offer that and much more...like information on certain events that will unfold in the future and of course the necessary manpower too."

Baelish eyes lit up vaguely as he schooled his expression perfectly. Information was never free but if this woman before him knew things that he did not, then hearing her out could prove fortuitous. "Say that I accept your offer," Petyr spoke, folding his hands before him. "What do you desire in return?"

The stranger leaned back and gave the current Lord of the Vale an evil grin, "Chaos, Mister Baelish, I desire nothing more than chaos. To see the world burn, so to speak. Whether you rule the ashes is beyond my concern."

Baelish looked the woman in the eyes, already deciding on a route of action when the time came where she was of no value to him. He then reached out his hand, offering it to the stranger. "I believe we can come to a mutual arrangement."

"I knew you would see reason and I can assure you, I won't leave you disappointed," the woman spoke as she got up from the ornate chair and shook Baelish's hand, quite more firmly than he expected.

Baelish bowed his head slightly as he let go of the woman's hand, suppressing the urge of nursing his own. "Tell me then, what information is it you possess?

"All in due time Mister Baelish," the stranger spoke softly, moving around the desk to stand before him, eye to eye. "Now, before I tell you anything, I believe proper introductions are in order. A mutually beneficial agreement is hardly mutual if one party is not privy to the name of the other."

"You seem to know all there is about me," Baelish replied. "So, may I enquire to your name, my lady?"

"That you may," the stranger said, turning away from Petyr to study the map of Westeros lying on the sturdy table. She looked up as Baelish placed himself adjacent to her, a sardonic smile on her face as she prepared a rhetorical question. "Have you ever heard of something called...an Elder Scroll, Mister Baelish?"

Petyr gave the woman his usual smile. He was a bit frustrated that she had yet to reveal her name. "Can't say I have."

"Then let me start from the beginning and do not worry, you will get your information and soldiers too," the woman informed, holding up a hand to make the Lord remain silent. "As for my name, I am called...Boethiah."

 **Westeros  
** **Riverlands  
** "You think she's alive," a voice most likely belonging to a young girl or maybe a boy spoke.

"Who cares, just take whatever valuables she has, Girl..." a gruff older voice replied, each word interrupted by what sounded like chewing.

"You think she killed those Frey men?"

"Does it look like I give a shit?" the man spoke, emitting a belch and continued. "Chances are these men captured her and got into a fight over who deserved the first turn."

"And then they miraculously killed each other?" the young voice commented with a good deal of skepticism. "Besides, her clothes show no sign of damage and she still got her weapons."

"Why not?" the older voice answered and spat out something. "She sure as hell couldn't have done it."

"You think she's a Targaryen?"

"Ha, dream on," The older voice simply harrumphed and returned to whatever it was doing.

Ciri was breathing lightly, slowly getting her bearings, her head was throbbing and her eyelids heavy. She felt different. As if distant memories were just at the edge of her mind, waiting to be remembered. Pain was coursing through her body and just moving a finger was close to unbearable. She continued to lie still as the girl or boy at her side seemed to search the ground around her. It was when she felt fingers tracing the leather string leading to her medallion that she finally gathered the strength to react. Just as it was lifted from the confines of her shirt.

Her hand shot up. Grabbing the wrist of the offending hand in a tight grip. She opened her eyes only to come face to face with the dirt smeared visage of a young girl or boy, who in return let out a gasp. "Don't do that."

Ciri immediately let go as the young child stumbled back. She sat up with a groan and brushed fallen leaves out of her hair. The child before her was dressed in ragged clothes, with oily brown hair and looking like she or he had not eaten well for days.

Ciri stood up on shaky legs and tried to catch her breath. Whatever that wraith had done, it had left her exhausted and she could feel her magical reserved had been drained. It would likely take days before they were at their optimal levels once again, if ever.

"Who are you!" the boy demanded. No, girl. She realized as she looked closer at the hard face before her. The man who was with her was standing in the distance, having finished eating the leftovers of the rabbit, sword resting against his shoulder.

"You a Targaryen bastard?" Arya Stark snapped, she had picked up one of the discarded swords and was pressing its tip against her leather corset.

"I have no idea what a Targaryen is?" Ciri spoke, holding up her hands, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. It apparently did nothing to discourage the girl who seemed unsatisfied with her answer.

Drawing her sword would take too long. The best she got was her fists but the odds of these newcomers not running her through were obviously not in her favor. The Wraith had done something to her and she was not ready to try out if she was still at the top of her game.

Taking a few deep breaths, Ciri spoke calmly. "I'm not a Targaryen, whoever that might be..."

"You sure look like one, Girl," the older man commented in the background, emptying what appeared to be the last canteen of alcohol among the dead men. It was only now that she could see that he was heavily scarred with what looked like third degree burns.

"Well I'm not," Ciri spoke sharply.

"If you're not one of them, then tell us your name!" Arya snapped, adding pressure to her sword.

"My name..." Ciri suddenly stopped, her eyes vacant as the spark of a memory came to her. Hidden at the bottom of a crevasse in her subconscious only now retrieved. It was the meaning of her name.

" _Cirilla, in our tongue it is Zireael, a swallow."_

Ciri's lips formed a lopsided grin as she reminisced, even if she could not recall who had told her this, it was one of the rare comprehensible memories she had received in a long time. "My name...is Cirilla but you can call me Ciri."

"Ciri..." the girl seemed to roll the words in her mouth, trying it out a few times until she was satisfied with the pronunciation. Her face lit up in a smile as she dropped her sword and offered her hand. "Ciri it is, I'm Arya and that big hulk over there is my...my...father."

The Hound simply spat on the ground, sheathed his sword and stalked towards the horses. Although he wore his usual grumpy expression, thoughts did run through his head. If this girl truly was a Targaryen, how much could she be worth and if she was not. There was always a reward for run of the mill bastards, especially ones who could threaten the throne. Only downside to this plan was that the Lannisters wanted him dead. Of course this could be remedied if some other lord was willing to fork over the gold.

"Your father huh..." Ciri mused, running a hand through her hair that had come loose during her encounter with the wraith. "You must take after your mother then."

Arya laughed halfheartedly, sitting down on a tree trunk as Ciri picked up her discarded dagger and adjusted her weapons, retying the ribbon holding up her hair in its messy bun.

"Are you sure you're not a Targaryen?" Arya asked instead of commanded as she studied the beautiful yet deadly woman before her.

"That's the third time you've asked that question and I still don't know what you're talking about," Ciri laughed softly as she sat down on a rock adjacent to Arya and pulled her cloak around her. Removing the leaves tangled in the wool. "What exactly does a Targaryen look like?"

"Pretty with violet eyes and hair as white as snow," Arya informed, pointing at her own hair, "though if you truly are one of them. You at least look like you've done some honest labor."

"Thank you," Ciri laughed as she absentmindedly traced the scar on her cheek.

"How did you get the scar?" Arya suddenly asked. Pulling Ciri out of her reverie. Though as she saw the look in the older girl's eyes she swiftly dampened her inquisitiveness. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked."

Ciri smiled and replied non-perturbed. "It's okay, I don't truly remember."

"Hey, Girl!" The Hound yelled from atop his horse. Putting a stop to whatever path Arya and Ciri's conversation could have taken. "Grab a horse, we're leaving!"

"Coming, Father!" Arya replied in a mocking tone and rose up, glancing at Ciri who had seemed to return to her thoughts. She looked back and forth between the tied up horses and the woman before her, who gazing into the embers of the dying fire.

Looking at the Hound for advice, he simply let out a grunt and kicked his horse impatiently, obviously eager to move further down the road they had originally been traveling.

Arya huffed and returned her attention to Ciri, she bit her lip and made up her mind. "You know, traveling alone can be dangerous and a friendly face is always welcome...if you want to come with us..."

Ciri looked up, regarding the young girl. "You really want a complete stranger as a companion?"

"Why not?" Arya shrugged her shoulders and gestured towards the dead bodies surrounding them, "you seem like you can handle yourself. Besides, you can always leave if you want to."

"It has been a long time since I've travelled with friends," Ciri beamed as she got up, following Arya towards the horses.

"Not you, Girl!" The Hound pointed at Arya. "You ride with me!"

The young Stark, rolled her eyes and walked towards the scarred man. Leaving Ciri to choose a horse for herself as the two were already moving down the dirt road.

The ashen haired woman shook her head lightly and chose a horse with brown fur. She cut the bindings of the remaining horses with her sword. Sheathed it, jumped on her horse and followed Arya and the Hound at a brisk pace. Smiling as she found herself surprisingly hopeful of what the future might hold for her and the puzzle that was her past.

Long after Ciri and her two newfound friends had left the abandoned campsite and the long dead Frey soldiers had become carrion for the scavengers of the forest. A small ember in the long dead fire seemed to glow anew. Spreading to form a ring of fire so bright it was visible from miles away. A female figure slowly rose from it, clad in a red dress that hugged her every curve and displayed enough skin to make even Dibella blush.

She had red hair that seemed to dance like flames and a pair of warm eyes that glowed like aurorae. She took in her surroundings, studying it with disinterest evident on her face.

"You are late," she spoke with a voice that dripped like honey as a tall figure clad in black armor covered with spikes materialized at her side.

"And you're always on time, Meridia," the armored figure spoke before changing into a more human form.

"You did not have to scare the girl like that, Clavicus," Meridia commented, nonchalantly waving a hand at the rotting corpses around them. Making them burn from the inside out.

"It's called 'method', Meridia and the only way to be sure." Clavicus Vile jested, "Sheogorath and Sanguine played their part splendidly. Her arrival has disturbed the magical balance of this world and I simply helped it and her along."

Meridia smiled vaguely. "Yes, who would think that such a little girl could possess such raw magical power and now it has served its rightful purpose, strengthening the connection between this world..." the daedra gestured towards the surrounding lands. "and ours."

"Allowing us greater freedom within it," Clavicus finished, his eyes twinkling in the dark, "and the side effect of an awakening ritual might have helped her remember."

"You dream Clavicus," Meridia replied snidely, "the only side effect are more intense flashbacks."

"Of course that could wreak havoc on her psyche, but she's a big girl, what's a little more trauma matter?"

"Big girl or not. Don't forget why she is truly here, my dear siblings!" A deeper female voice spoke behind them. Its owner, a tall woman of considerable beauty, clad in a white chiton, with hair black as night but with the occasional twinkle as if it represented the cosmos itself.

"And you say I'm late?" Clavicus directed towards Meridia.

"Yes, the Wild Hunt," Meridia spoke as Azura moved around the fire to stand in front of her siblings. "What I fail to understand is what makes her so special, aside from her magical potential?"

Azura laughed at her sister. "Oh, Meridia, still so much you fail to comprehend."

Meridia sent Azura a glare as she continued. "Our dear Ciri has something locked within her, something that enables her to travel the cosmos. It is because of this gift that she is hunted and though she has managed to shake off her pursuers they have been picking up her trail, inching ever closer each time she has returned to the astral planes."

"But why...why put our faith in a mortal girl?"

"Only she is able to defeat the Wild Hunt and it has been hunting her for a very long time," Azura answered.

"So the hunted must become the hunter and by fueling this world with her magic we have drawn her enemies out," Clavicus finished to himself.

"And you believe a mere mortal girl can halt the charge of the Wild Hunt?" Meridia enquired, her gaze shifting between her two siblings. "Not all of us are participating in this scheme, Azura. At this moment Mehrunes Dagon is worshiped by fools as a Lord of Light. Namira plans to plunge this world into eternal darkness and who knows what Boethiah is up to!"

"Whatever game our brothers and sisters are playing matters little in the grand scheme of things," Azura replied, sending Meridia a cold stare, "not even we are immune to the Wild Hunt, despite what Hircine might say."

"Eredin the Sparrowhawk wants what the girl has locked within her soul," Clavicus chuckled in a melancholic tone, "and when his Red Horsemen descend upon the world, even daedra may die."

"Unless our dear girl succeeds that is," Meridia added, "and you believe she can?"

"She must, dear sister," Azura spoke without condescension. "It is her destiny."

"Let us hope she can triumph," Clavicus near whispered as he stared into the dying fire.

Azura moved close to her siblings and put a hand around each of them, trying to reassure them both before they all returned to their realms in a cloud of smoke. "That is why we must make sure she does."

* * *

The clothes Ciri wears are identical, with only minor changes, to what her character wears in Witcher 3. I based the blade and crossguard of her silver sword on Glamdring and her dagger on Aragorn's hunting knife. At least that's how they look in my mind.

I know this fic might require knowledge of three different franchises, but I'm quite sure it's nothing that a quick visit to each respective wikia site won't solve.

One last thing though. If you expect this to be some Stark Fuck Yeah! story, then I must disappoint you. For I have neither the idea for a reunion nor the desire to make one.

If you want that kind of entertainment I suggest reading **Of Kings, Draugr, and Dragons** or **Wild Wolf** , a crossover featuring **Ranma** and little to no connection with the manga, making him Robb Stark in all but name, it is well written but horrendously boring. The same can be said for basically all **GoT/ASoIaF** crossovers with **Harry Potter**.


	2. Chapter 2: Dawn of the Dragon Age

Some events are time shifted to better fit into the narrative as well as elements from A Song of Ice and Fire. Like the look of the Iron Throne, which in the books is literally made of a thousand swords.

While I consider myself knowledgeable on the Witcher series of games and have played them all. I have not read the books and most of my information comes from the Wikia and TvTropes. So bare with me when I play fast and loose with the lore.

Since I'll use broad strokes regarding the Witcher storyline. The Wild Hunt and their leader - Eredin, will differ greatly in how they look from the games. Most of it is simply guesswork, headcanon and my own ideas. Lord of the Rings and Shadow of Mordor has been my main inspiration for him and his generals. So expect names like; The Tower, The Hammer and so on to crop up.

Concerning the fighting. Yes I know, I'm not the greatest action writer, but only practice makes perfect. However, this is fiction so liberties will be taken with swordsmanship. I will try and include some HEMA moves; such as half-swording.

Also, some of the opinions made by characters in this fic are not necessarily my own, but how others might view them.

Remember to review as they are what keeps me going. Enjoy :-)

 **Reign of Fire  
** **Chapter 2: Dawn of the Dragon Age**

" _We are all of us what we do..."_

She was small. Just a mere child. She was among friends. Their faces smiling at her. A tall man with hair like her own, steadied her hands, guiding her arms. Teaching her how to wield a sword.

" _Elder blood is in your veins...it is not yours to command,"_ an echoing voice reverberated through the blurry memories.

The ground seemed to shift and flow around her like water in an ocean. Unable to move. All she observed were the specters of strange lands. Strange people she did not know and herself wielding strange powers. Until the world stood still and the skies grew dark and she stood atop a black tower of unfathomable magnitude. A dark figure towering before her.

" _There is no reason to fight..."_ the figure rasped, _"we all know how this will end..."_

She was running again. Not out of fear. This time from anger. She was mad. Mad at the world and the injustice it had brought upon her. Mad at the people who made her into what she is. She wanted to escape. To never gaze upon a past that brought her nothing but pain.

" _Ciri...you are blessed with an incredible gift,"_ a wise voice echoed. _"...and they will hunt you till the end of time for what you have..."_

Soft lips brushed against hers. Voice whispering in her ear.

" _Time to wake up..."_

Ciri woke up with a start, gasping for air. Having swiftly pulled her silver sword halfway out on the way. She calmed down upon recognizing her surroundings and her blade made a click as she sheathed it. She threw the covers off her and pulled her cloak tight, rubbing her neck absentmindedly. Leaning on one arm. A saddle was not the most comfortable of pillows but it had to do.

They had taken shelter behind some bushes not far from the main road. A meager fire providing a modicum of warmth as Ciri and her two companions huddled beneath rough blankets one could only find comfortable with several layers of clothes on. She let out an amused sigh as Sandor's snoring broke any tad of peace in the early morning.

"Nightmare?" Arya asked. She was sitting beside Ciri with her blanket pulled around her, stabbing the fire randomly with a stick. She looked at Ciri, expecting some degree of an answer, but the girl continued to stare into the glowing embers. "You know you talk in your sleep."

Ciri looked up, setting her gaze on Arya as the flames made the red coloration of her scar stand out. "About what?"

"Something about elves," Arya smirked but quickly schooled her expression as Ciri's fell, obviously not amused. Thinking quickly the young Stark spoke in a warmer tone. "And someone named Geralt and Yennefer...people you know?"

A sudden influx of vague memories caused Ciri to rub her temple, closing her eyes at the feeling of a mild migraine. She saw images of the same white haired man from her dreams. This time picking her up and swinging her around. A dark haired woman laughed at them. 'A childhood memory. Was she theirs?'

Letting out a groan, she sent Arya a smile, shaking her head. "Maybe...I don't know."

"We can always talk about something else," Arya said warmly, huddling her blanket closer.

"No, it's fine...I just," Ciri paused and looked into the fire.

Truth be told. Ciri intrigued the Stark girl. In the fortnight they had travelled together the not-Targaryen had revealed little about herself. Only that she had spent most of her life walking the earth, though where, she did not tell. Nor did Ciri reveal how she learned to fight. Just that it was something she had picked up during her travels and that where she came from, learning to fight was essential.

And fight! That was something Ciri was definitely good at. Arya still remembered how they liberated an inn from a couple of Lannister thugs lead by Polliver, the man who took Needle, the only keepsake of her family. They had entered the inn as Ciri took care of the horses and had tried to act civilized despite watching them belittle the innkeeper and molest his daughter. It only went downhill from there as Polliver recognized the Hound and sat down with them to make smalltalk. Attempting to convince the Hound to join them in their rampage across the Riverlands and just when the situation had reached its breaking point, Ciri walked in sword in hand and drove it through the man closest to the entrance.

They did good work on the rest and Arya managed to reclaim Needle and avenge Lommy. Despite their small victory and finally receiving a hot meal from the inn's grateful owners. Arya was still in awe at how Ciri had dispatched her opponents. She had never seen anyone move so fast. Killing men in such a brutal yet efficient manner as the ashen haired girl. She had used her sword, fists and legs, at one point even leaving her sword in the gut of one man and went to town on the rest. Using only her dagger and agility. Nonetheless it left both her and the Hound sorely lacking for words as they looted whatever coin the dead men had. Ciri had given her share to the innkeeper.

Some of Ciri's moves reminded Arya of the Braavosi Water Dance, but mixed with a flurry of styles she did not recognize. The Stark girl had quickly perished those thoughts. The memories of her old teacher still a painful reminder of her own impotence at protecting her family.

When they had turned in for the night and the Hound was sleeping like the dead. Arya had enquired about her style of fighting and Ciri had replied with words that the young girl had taken to heart.

"Everyone can learn how to fight, Arya. All it requires is knowing how to swing a stick or throw a rock," Ciri said as they shared some strips of dried meat. "But to be a warrior. That requires so much more."

"What's the difference?" Arya had asked.

Ciri had a wistful look on her face as she replied. "An old friend once told me that the line between fighter and warrior is a fine one indeed. One seeks battles and the other chooses. A soldier on the other hand, can be either of those and yet not."

Arya had listened with rapt attention while Ciri continued in a soft tone. It had been a long time since she had a conversation that did not contain stealth insults and veiled threats.

"To achieve greatness, one must be like water. Nothing can overcome water. It is soft and weak, yet strong and firm, it can cut the toughest of stone and move the tallest of mountains. It does not fight; it adapts. And that is the true weapon of a warrior; the ability to adapt.

"Remember Arya..." Ciri had said before they both prepared turned in for the night, pressing a finger against her heart. "The true master dwells within and only you can set it free."

Arya did not know what to think of Cirilla or Ciri as she preferred. Most times they would have long talks over campfire on a wide variety of topics, usually about the latter's adventures in distant lands that she would not reveal the location of. Other times her newfound friend remained silent, sometimes for ours on end. Just staring into the blue with a sad look in her eyes. As if she was hopelessly lost with no idea of where to go. And then, on a few occasions. Ciri would crack a joke and teach her some new moves and stances.

In the end, Arya felt eternally grateful to have someone beside Sandor Clegane as company and yet she could not help but feel incredibly jealous towards the girl. Ciri represented all she desired to be. She was strong, could fight and knew how to survive. If she had just been more like her, maybe she could have saved her family.

"Ciri...it's fine," Arya spoke again, a littler harsher to get her attention. Ciri looked at her and nodded. A simple 'hm' her only response.

They left their camp an hour later. The Hound and Arya riding in front with a silent Ciri behind. Eyes taking in the dreary surroundings that made up the Riverlands.

 **Plane of Oblivion  
** The Court of Hircine was located in a world where Mother Earth reigned supreme. Here there were no cities, no people, no burgeoning industry to rot away the pure beauty and chaos of nature.

It was early autumn in Hircine's realm and the tree crowns painted a magnificent canvas of colors ranging from red to yellow and orange to green. The autumn leaves covering the forest floor made its soft expanses glow with a warm hue from the rays of the sun. The atmosphere thick with the songs of animals.

The throne room of the Huntsman of the Princes lay within a massive forest, located in a glen at its heart. Surrounded by white trees with the throne in the west and the entrance to the east.

Hircine's throne took the form a massive ivory hued tree that seemed to have grown around him. Its branches rising behind the Prince in a half circle. The Daedra sat firmly in his seat of power. His most trusted warriors standing in thick formation. Forming a single line of approach for any who wished an audience with the Prince.

His men were clad in black trousers with armored boots. Their upper bodies were bare and showed off grey skin with red ceremonial scars forming intricate patterns of each warriors prowess. Armored shoulder length gloves shielded their arms and on their head they wore helmets formed like a crow's beak. They wielded massive square shaped swords with a shorter curved one strapped to their backs. They were the Butcher Guard, Hircine's personal enforcers.

The Daedric Prince himself took the form of a tall elf, with hair the color of fresh fallen leaves, that fell to his shoulders and skin resembling wood stripped of its bark. He wore a lightly armored sand colored long coat with red lining. Black trousers adorned his legs and on his feet he wore brown leather boots. A crimson sash tightened around his waist. A crown adorned his head in the form of a circlet of tiny vines.

The Huntsman of the Princes sat leisurely in his throne. One hand on his chin and the other caressing the hilt of a thin slightly curved ebony blade. Contemplating the man who stood before him.

A tall wiry elf with grey skin, lank black hair and glowing red eyes. His armor was black, each plate looking like it had been bleached with acid and on each of his fingers stretched long claw like protrusions. He wore a black cloak with the hood pulled up, only adding to his sinister presence and on his side hung a large longsword, the same color as the plate he wore. Its hilt and crossguard covered in what resembled bony tendrils.

He displayed no notion of fear in the face of the daedric prince and with good reason. He was the Black Hand of Eredin; Commander of the Dearg Ruadhri, King of Tir ná Lia and the Wild Hunt.

Hircine leaned forward, sending a scowl in the direction of the man who showed no sign of cowardice in his presence. "Tell me then Black Hand of Eredin...why should I the Huntsman of Princes, aid your king?"

The Black Hand's lips formed a nasty smile. He spoke in a soft raspy voice that gave off a scornful and offensive vibe. "The Sparrowhawk does not need your aid, Huntsman, it is you who need his." He motioned with his hand at his surroundings. "And this meeting. A simple courtesy."

Hircine immediately stopped fiddling with his sword and stood up, resting it on his shoulder. "You seem to forget, Black Hand! I am a prince of the daedra and I bow to no one. Least of all your king!" the Daedra hissed. "And if you had an inkling of who you are addressing. It should be your king, swearing fealty to me!"

The Black Hand placed his hands behind his back and tilted his head, his eyes glowing ominously. "My king is not in need of your forces to accomplish his goals, Prince. They would simply be...a welcome addition to his cause. However, if you will not cooperate..."

Hircine's hands tightened around his sword and his face turned to stone as the Black Hand reached from inside his cloak and pulled forth a burlap sack, dripping with blood. The metallic aroma of blood consuming the glen like a thick invisible fog. The blood itself seemed ready to ignite the very earth as it splashed onto the autumn leaves. The essence of pure undiluted power evaporating from it.

The Black Hand threw the sack before the Daedra's feet, sending blood flying and two heads tumbling out. Rolling till they stopped before the Prince's feet. Gaping upwards with lifeless eyes, locked in fear, shock and surprise. One head belonging to a once fierce and proud orsimer. Now humbled for eternity. The other was the green scaled skull of a dragon. Half rotting, with maggots infesting the eye sockets and chunks of flesh missing, allowing one a clear view of its inner maw.

"Behold the Great Abyss!" The Black Hand boasted majestically, arms stretched out in a show of superiority. "For they are gazing upon it."

Hircine's face was stoic as he looked down upon the lifeless heads of his fellow kin. Long had the immortals of Mundus believed themselves untouchable by the hand of death. That all changed with the Dragon Crisis of Nirn's Fourth Era.

The Dovahkiin's victory against Alduin had caused tears to appear in the veil shielding Aetherius from the magicka that binds the multiverse together. Its realms opened for outside powers. Its walls exposed to creatures far older than aedra and daedra alike. Beings capable of making gods bleed.

It is not known how these extra-dimensional beings are capable of dispatching gods, but it is speculated by the mages of Cyrodiil that the supernatural energies that consume them as they travel the cosmos. Grants them indomitable powers. Fortunately for the inhabitants of Mundus. Their realms possessed little of interest for outside parties. Until now that is, when the Lion Cub of Cintra came in contact with the Old Gods.

The Huntsman of Princes set his gaze upon the hooded elf before him, eyes cold as steel. "If you believe showing me the heads of my brethren will make me bow! Then you are sorely mistaken!" Hircine spat before the boots of his unwelcome guest.

"If you shan't cooperate, Prince!" the Black Hand mocked with a gleeful tone, as if all that had happened was according to plan, "then you are merely an obstacle in the eyes of my king...and will perish like those before you!"

Hircine let out a short chuckle and pulled his blade from its scabbard, throwing the latter away. "You arrogance blinds you, Black Hand. Malacath and Peryite were fools...you will find me...a quite more formidable foe."

The Black Hand's red eyes seemed to pulse for a second. Holding his head high he replied calmly. "Do you know what awaits an immortal upon death, Hircine?" receiving no reply, he continued, "Your soul does not venture to the great beyond, but lingers in the magic coursing through the astral planes. A simple fleck of dust in the vastness of the cosmos. Insignificant."

"So you welcome death in the name of your king?" Hircine chuckled, resting his blade against his shoulder.

"I don't welcome death, Prince," the Black Hand boasted, "I bring it!"

The Daedra's personal guard all turned towards the Black Hand. Crossing their massive blades. Barring the way towards their prince. The Elf cracked a smile, grabbed his scabbard and drew his blade in one smooth movement. Felling the two closest guards. Before the others had time to react, he grabbed the blade with his left hand and thrust it into the throat of his next victim. He pulled it out and held it stretched out beside himself.

"Kill him!" Hircine bellowed, aiming his sword directly at the hooded elf.

The Black Hand sidestepped as one dremora charged him, bringing its massive blade downwards. As it lodged into the ground, the Black Hand laid the flat end of his blade upon it and drove it upwards. Cutting both his opponents arms off before slicing his upper body open.

Leaning back he avoided a sideways slash from another guard. He spun his sword around and thrust it firmly into the stomach of the soldier behind him. Twisting his upper body as a sword raced towards him. Avoiding it as it split the previous guard's head in two. The Black Hand kneed the man in the sternum and grabbed the sword strapped to his back as he keeled over. Using it to deflect a blow from another opponent, redirecting it and driving it into the previous guard before moving on. Using each new opponents swords against each other. Cutting a bloody path towards the daedric prince. Until only the Prince and two of his Butcher Guard were left.

Hircine gritted his teeth and positioned his blade before himself. "You have some skill. I give you that."

The Black Hand grinned, twirling two of the fallen guards' ebony blades in his hands. The last two guards raised their blades and swung at him as he charged. He spun his swords around, holding them in reverse and leaned back. Sliding beneath the massive blades racing horizontally at him. Bringing both blades upwards as he passed beneath them. He came up with a roar as the dremora fell. Flipping both swords around as he neared Hircine. Blades crossed like a scissor.

The Daedra brought his sword down. Locking blades with the Black Hand. "You seem to have run out of executioners. Prince!"

"You haven't defeated me yet!" Hircine spat, adding pressure to his sword and pushed it down. Almost nicking the Elf.

The Black Hand pulled back and swung his swords at Hircine, forcing the prince to block and move backwards as the Elf swung his blades in arcs around him.

The Elf made a jab, holding both hands close, blades parallel to each other. Locking Hircine's sword between them. He twisted his wrists and spun around, wresting the hilt out of the Daedra's hand and brought his own sword across his throat in one swift move. Hircine grabbed his neck to stop the arterial spray of blood.

Having discarded the Prince's sword. The Black Hand used the distraction to his advantaged. Bringing both his blades down to bear upon the Daedra's shoulders. Hircine let out a roar. Grabbing both blades, trying to push them away as they ground into his bones. The Elf cracked a nasty smile and pulled both swords back, kicking the Daedra hard in the lower abdomen as he winced from the pain.

Hircine flew backwards and crashed into his throne, discombobulated. The Black Hand was fast and had already moved close, flipping both his blades around, raised high above his head, letting out a battle cry as he brought them down on the Daedra. Hircine let out a pained grunt as the blades pierced through his heart and impaled him upon his throne.

The Black Hand turned his back to the Prince, walking calmly among the carnage he had caused to retrieve his longsword. Hircine harked up blood, as he tried to wrest out the swords skewering him.

Hircine's breathing was ragged as he addressed the Black Hand. "You think this is over...I am but one out of many...my brothers will avenge me!"

Having regained his sword the Black Hand strode towards the Father of Manbeasts. He kneeled before the Prince, his head crooked, red eyes staring intently as the life slowly vanished from Hircine's face. He placed a gentle hand on the Daedra's head, almost caressing it. Resting the edge of his sword against his victim's throat.

"Do you feel it, Prince?" the Black Hand whispered gently, "mortality?"

Hircine spat out a torrent of blood in response. His last moment of spite as the Black Hand smirked and slowly dragged his blade across the Daedra's throat. Tarnishing both of their attires in dark blood.

"Your soul will assist the coming of my lord..." the Black Hand spoke, rising as the Daedric Prince drowned in his own blood.

Hircine slumped down in his throne, head lolling back as he took his last breath. Eyes going lifeless as his body slowly turned to white stone. The Black Hand wiped his sword clean and sheathed it. Letting out a short laugh as he turned around, leaving the former realm of Hircine while it burned around him. Smoke and ash filling the air.

 **Westeros  
Riverlands  
**Ciri had gone hunting, preferring a moment of peace and quiet away from the constant bickering of Sandor and Arya. They had run into a kind farmer and his daughter Sally, who had offered them shelter for the night and a hot meal. A welcome change to the mutilated corpses, remains of slaughtered animals and houses burned to the ground, that was all they had seen for quite some time.

She silently cursed the Hound as she inspected her dagger's blade. The brute had eaten the last of their provisions in one sitting, as if the thought of rationing was lost on him. Fortunately, the Cintran had noticed telltale signs of wildlife in the forest nearby and had put it upon herself to repay their kind samaritans by acquiring tonights dinner. Since neither Arya or Sandor knew anything about hunting. A clear sign that they were not the common plebeians they claimed to be. Even the most clueless of farmers at least knew how to make a snare.

Out of habit Ciri adjusted the baldric holding her sword. She had strayed from the road and was moving slowly through the undergrowth. Following the trail of what appeared to be a caribou or something hunting one. Twisted twigs and depressions in the soft earth led her further into the dank forest. She walked calmly among the trees, careful not to alert the wildlife of her approach.

"This is hopeless...what am I supposed to do?" Ciri thought to herself. She had quickly deduced that Sanguine and Sheogorath did not send her on a so called 'grand adventure' out of altruistic feelings for her. No. There had to be some greater motive in sending her to this Westeros. There had to be. They were daedra after all.

Ciri froze, putting an abrupt stop to her musings. She could hear panting in the distance. Interspersed with the occasional whimper. Moving towards the sounds, she could make out the gnashing of teeth. Whatever animal it could be it was likely a carnivore. Ciri pushed her way through a couple of bushes and came to a sudden stop. Taking a few steps back.

In the small clearing, near a massive tree, stood a wolf of monstrous proportions. The size of a full grown stag. It snarled at Ciri who held her hands before herself, trying to show the beast that she meant it no harm. Looking closer she could see that its left front paw was tangled up in a piece of string. Most likely a snare set up for catching bushmeat. The string was tight across the limb and had dug itself into the flesh. Coloring its grey fur red.

"Hey..." Ciri breathed out. She assumed a crouched position and moved towards the beast slowly. "What happened to you?"

The wolf let out a bark as Ciri approached, making her stop. Scrutinizing her with its golden eyes. Teeth bared as it growled at her. Instead of being intimidated, the woman cracked a scolding smile and wagged her finger.

"You stepped on a snare didn't you?" Ciri reprimanded, taking a small step forward. The wolf let out a whine in response and began to gnaw at the string around its paw.

"Easy, take it easy..." Ciri said with a slightly shaky voice. She was close enough to almost touch the wolf. Making sure not to make any sudden moves she motioned her right hand closer. The wolf could easily take off her head if it decided she was a threat.

It growled once more and turned its giant head towards her. Yet seemed to stop as they came face to face. Ciri let out a soft laugh as it sniffed at her. Making a grimace when it ran its large tongue across her cheek.

She put a hand on top of its head, gently pushing it away, enabling her to focus on removing the noose around its paw. Either she was just that good with animals or it was much more clever than the average wildlife.

She took hold of the snared paw with her left hand and raised it softly. The forepaw itself was large enough to fill her hand and Ciri could easily imagine the damage its claws could do. The wolf licked her hands as she untwined the snare.

"Be still, it will be over in just a moment," Ciri assured, earning a few guttural sounds in response as she slid the string off its paw. "There we go. Nasty thing."

Laying the snare aside she took hold of the giant wolf's paw once again with hand. Caressing the injured paw with the other. Whispering a small incantation. The Cintran willed forth the small reserve of magic she had left. Mending the wounded limb.

Ciri smiled and patted it on the head. "There, good as new," she gave it a scratch behind the ears and stood up, "now get out of here."

The wolf let out a happy bark and Ciri almost feared that it would jump her in excitement. Instead it turned around and stalked towards the end of the clearing. However, just before it disappeared. The wolf turned its head around and looked Ciri in the eyes. Maybe it was a trick of the mind, but she was almost sure that it bowed its head at her before disappearing into the foliage.

"Funny..." Ciri mumbled, picking up the discarded snare and turned around. Once again on the prowl for prey and hopefully her catch would be substantial enough for Sandor to not eat it all. Even the smallest act of kindness could rekindle the fire of life in a world consumed by darkness.

 **Plane Of Oblivion  
** Azura's realm of Moonshadow is a world of such beauty that it is beyond compare. Bathed in eternal moonlight, the twilight realm is one of rolling hills, silver cities and breathtaking vistas of waterfalls, flowers and majestic forests where the wind and the rain creates a pleasant atmosphere and all things radiate warmth and color.

The Prince of Dusk and Dawn herself resides in a grandiose palace of white stone and roses. Situated on a mountaintop and rising high in the night's sky. At its peak, is an elliptical amphitheater built of concrete and from it stands a circular tower - the personal quarters of Azura, reserved only for her and those she either trusts or hold dear.

From the uppermost floor, one can behold all of Moonshadow, from the nebula that surrounds it, to the horizon where the oceans cascade down its sides. The interior itself is large and rotund, surrounded by tall pillars holding up the domed ceiling and the different floors that hugged the walls. A circle at its center allowed the starlight to brighten up the rotunda. Tiles of many colors and patterns made up the floor that was strewn with rose petals. Beautiful vines snaked their way across the walls.

In the middle of the rotunda stood an elaborate round table decorated with gold and silver, depicting each of the daedric princes. A lush chandelier of ever burning candles hovered in the air above and extravagant chairs circled it. With only four of them occupied. One by a sleeping Clavicus Vile, who had taken the appearance of a sharp dressed man in green with slicked back shoulder length black hair, a sharp face and pine green eyes. Another by Meridia who was contemplating a glowing sphere in her hand and the last two were seized by Sanguine and Sheogorath who were deep in discussion.

"So they're like wolves but dire?" Sanguine questioned as she examined the stuffed head of a direwolf.

"Exactly, just like dire bears and dire coats, which you can make from both those beasts," Sheogorath exclaimed with a proud look on his face.

"Where exactly did you get this, not from Hircine right? He would pucker pinkie tight."

"Nah, I found it in a Westerosi river," Sheogorath waved his hand, "attached to the body of a grown man. A terrible waste of a dead body if you ask me, but I digress. I got a nice mantelpiece out of it."

Their banter was subsequently interrupted by the appearance of Azura and Nocturnal, when the latter slammed the huge doors to the rotunda open. Allowing all its occupants to catch the heated words between the twins.

"Accept the truth Nocturnal!" Azura snapped, pointing a finger at the aforementioned. She had changed her appearance to a lithe woman with golden hair, dressed in a delicate white gown with a braided silver circlet resting on her head. "Your champion has failed."

Nocturnal looked identical to Azura's in all but a few exceptions. Her hair was dark as a raven's with eyes the color of amethysts and she wore a violet robe with gold and silver embroidery that left nothing to the imagination. Showing both plenty of leg and ample cleavage.

The Night Mistress batted Azura's accusing hand away. "I did not agree with this plan to begin with dear sister! I for one do not put my faith solely in the hands of just one mortal."

Azura let out a scathing laugh and crossed her arms. "Wise words and what have they given you? Brandon Stark and his friends are dead and may I remind you, that they, unlike Ciri, had no experience in fighting draugr."

"And a complete bore to boot, if I might say so," Clavicus Vile interrupted the two, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"That reminds me of an old saying," Sheogorath added while rolling his monocle between his fingers, "the only good Stark is a dead Stark. Which amusingly rhymes with Ned Stark, but doesn't apply to a certain Tony Stark."

"Wait, who?" Sanguine raised an eyebrow, shook her head and helped herself to the lavish food and drink on the table.

"Why may I ask is this Brandon dead?" Clavicus enquired, picking a green apple from the fruit bowl.

"Because you lot thought it a good idea to fuel that world with Ciri's inert magic!" Nocturnal snapped at the others. "Which of course allowed our siblings to expand their influence!"

"Siblings. Friends. Let's be civil," Meridia interrupted, having extinguished the globe of light in her hand, "and take a seat. Nocturnal, Azura."

The twins sent each other a glare before taking their respective seats at the table. Azura between Clavicus and Sheogorath. Nocturnal adjacent to her with Sanguine and Meridia at her flanks.

Azura took a breath, straightened her hair and contemplated each of her siblings, she cleared her throat and stood up, hands resting on the table.

"Brothers. Sisters. I have called you here for this unprecedented gathering because we face an unprecedented danger. Numerous of our brethren have fallen to an enemy calling himself Eredin, King of the Wild Hunt. An enemy we don't yet, fully understand," Azura paused, allowing the information to sink in. "We do know he is powerful enough to destroy entire worlds. Powerful enough to defeat even Malacath - our finest warrior."

Sheogorath was the first to break the silent contemplation of the others who were taking in Azura's words. Even after a century, the knowledge they had on the Wild Hunt was largely superficial.

"I suppose that's one less invitation for family gatherings," the Prince of Madness commented with a hint of sadness.

"You best add two more, Sheogorath," a calm voice spoke from the entrance. Making all turn toward its owner.

A lanky, plain-looking young man with short brown hair and eyes bereft of color. His sclera and iris each a different shade of black. He was wearing a brown coat, blue pants and black boots. In his left arm he carried a large tome bound in leather. What surprised all in the room though was not his sudden arrival but his appearance.

He was known by many names; The Outsider, the Scryer of Fate, the Keeper of Knowledge, but for the ones gathered around the table he was known simply as...

"Well, well, well...Hermaeus Mora," Nocturnal sniggered as she regarded the notoriously reclusive Daedric Prince.

"Fancy seeing you here," Sanguine commented, amusement clear on her face, "though I must say, you appear a bit overdressed."

"This form is useful...from time to time," Hermaeus Mora replied nonchalantly, pushing aside a vacant chair between Azura and Clavicus. Setting his tome down with a thud.

"What were you inferring to earlier, Mora?" Meridia asked.

"Peryite and Hircine," Mora stated with disinterest, as if the murder of his brothers meant as much to him as a copy of the Lusty Argonian Maid.

"How?"

"Killed by one of the Wild Hunt's Black Captains," addressed Mora to the others, "and as we speak their realms are in turmoil as lesser daedra fight for whatever vestige of power they can cling to."

"What do you mean by Black Captains?" Nocturnal asked, reclining in her chair.

Hermaeus Mora looked a them all, his expression unchanging. "There is so much you do not know, so much knowledge lost forever. You think you know the Wild Hunt, but all you know is the danger it poses . You think you know Cirilla. Your little pawn in this grand game..." Mora continued, speaking with a calm disinterested tone, "truth is...you have only scratched the surface."

Clavicus smirked, crossed his legs and took a bite of his apple. "And let me guess, you're here to enlighten us?"

"You could say that. Clavicus," Mora replied and opened the tome before him. He pushed it towards the table's middle and began moving his hands. The room darkened as shadows and stars swirled around the daedra. Light consumed the tome and from it Mora envisioned his tale.

"You might believe the Wild Hunt a new phenomenon threatening Mundus. Truth is...it has been here before," Mora paused as the others waited with baited breath. "To understand, we must go back in time, to eons past. To a time where the world of Westeros and Essos and the one of Nirn, were one and the same. The people of Westeros call it the Age of Heroes. The people of Nirn call it the Merethic Era. A time where myths were born and legends forged."

"That's impossible, we would remember," Azura interrupted.

"You do not remember," Mora continued, "for the concept of Daedric Princes or the Divines did not yet exist."

"You mentioned something about, 'one and the same'?" Meridia cut in, looking upon the illustrations that Mora had summoned forth. Her flame-like hair lighting up her face.

"I did indeed. You see, brothers and sisters. During the Mythic Era. Nirn and the world that holds the lands of Westeros, Essos, Sothoryos and Ulthos were but two sides of the same coin. Separated by ocean and mountain range. It was an age of wonders, where magic ruled supreme and interchangeable was the idea of aedra and daedra. Alas it was not to last."

"The Wild Hunt, Eredin the Sparrowhawk?" Nocturnal quizzed, pointing a finger at Hermaeus.

"What exactly is the Wild Hunt?" Sanguine spoke up.

"If you didn't already know, why partake in this?" Clavicus directed at the sultry brunette.

Sanguine cleared her throat and straightened her back. "My sphere of influence does cover gatherings, Clavicus. So when all of you converge for some secret soirée, I feel left out."

"Seems peer pressure is also within your influence," Sheogorath whispered sideways.

"Laugh it up," Sanguine replied, slumping back in her seat.

"Children, are you done?" Meridia directed at them all with an abrasive tone, guiding them back on topic. "Good. Mora, continue."

"As we found out decades ago. Mundus is but a part of the multiverse. To understand, I must regale its creation," Mora moved his hands together, intertwining his fingers. a small ball of light appeared within a hollow cyan sphere.

"In the beginning there was the Void. An infinite expanse untouched by time, where the source of magic flows free. Then bang," Mora pulled his hands apart, palms open, all fingers extended and the small ball of light exploded into numerous galaxies. "We do not know how, but the magic escaped the Void, giving birth to the endless expanding existence of time, space and matter that we call the Multiverse. The Unicorns and the Aen Elle were among its firstborn and the forebears of all born from or with magic. The first of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Cirilla too is part Tuatha and her homeworld very old."

"Ah! Unicorns, bah!" Sheogorath spat and slammed a clenched fist on the table. "In all of my travels, I have encountered many a beast both mythical and magical, including the noble unicorn. A proud creature, quite majestic to behold I might say, but beware! They are not as innocent as they would have you believe. I once had a unicorn cheat me out of a thousand Septims! Tricked me to invest in his real estate business. Well, I'll never see that money again! Fool me once, shame on you indeed!"

"Thank you," Azura replied, her lips pressed into a firm line, "for that sound piece of advice."

"You mentioned Aen Elle, Mora?" Meridia raised an eyebrow, resting her chin in her hand.

Hermaeus moved his hands in small circles and continued. "Eredin Bréacc Glas, known to the unicorns as the Sparrrowhawk, is the current King of the Aen Elle and commander of its mighty cavalry; the Dearg Ruadhri."

Clavicus discarded his apple and mumbled with his mouth full. "And what exactly are these Aen Elle?"

"Powerful elves who together with the unicorns hail from Tír na nÓg, the Heart of the Multiverse, which they rule from their capital, Tir ná Lia. The pinnacle of elven high culture, they know not shame nor pity, have never suffered persecution, or endured massacres at the hands of those not their kind. They are invaders. Conquerors. Oppressors."

"Basically a Thalmor's wet dream?" Sanguine remarked with humor in the her eyes.

"Wait just a second," Clavicus raised his voice together with an open hand. "If they're elves, why do they look like humanoid abominations?"

"The Aen Elle and the Unicorns once had a mighty alliance and together they unraveled the mystery that is the Gate of the Worlds; allowing them to traverse space and time. For a time the alliance flourished," Mora made a pause, "but like all great power, some wanted it for good others for evil. And so came the war...between the unicorns who fought for freedom and the elves that dreamt of tyranny. Overmatched and outnumbered, defeat was all but certain, but in the wars final days, the unicorns in a last act of defiance, managed to cut off the elves connection to the Gate of the Worlds. And scattered across the galaxies."

"Obviously it didn't work."

"On the contrary it worked splendidly. The unicorns are firstborn of the Tuatha after all. Alas, the nature of magic dictates that there is always a way," Mora spoke melancholy. The others looked at him in silence only broken by the occasional shuffling of glassware. "In time the Aen Elle found alternative means to traverse the cosmos once again. The method is far from perfect, as they must wreathe themselves in powerful magic to project their presence across the astral planes, and in the process they become twisted abominations of their true self. Yet without the Gate of the Worlds, they can't unleash their might upon us all."

"Chaotic magic has a way of wreaking havoc on reality and drive the weak insane," Clavicus mused, stroking his chin, "no wonder why the Hunt is seen as a bad omen."

"King of the Hunt! Wild Hunt! The Hunt! Cunts!" Sanguine exclaimed, impatience evident on her face, "PLEASE, HERMY! For the love of...JUST TELL US WHAT THEY ARE?!"

"Since you seem so impatient, dear sister, I shall...as you say...cut to the chase," Hermaeus Mora replied dryly, earning stifled chuckles form the others.

"The Dearg Ruadhri, the Red Riders or Red Horsemen. Better known as the Wild Hunt is the cavalry of the Aen Elle and their mighty empire. The elves should have been content. Lived long and prospered. But like all touched by power, they want more. More land. More people. Loyal and subservient to their rule."

"It is said that the Hunters take the souls of those they leave in their wake," Azura pondered, "Could explain the tales of fallen warriors being taken by spirits."

"Could it be that the souls fuel their society?" Nocturnal added.

"Or that they are taken as slaves for the Aen Elle," Clavicus stated, picking a new piece of fruit.

"Hermaeus, what did you mean with the Wild Hunt having been here before?" Meridia prodded, bringing the conversation back to the earlier mention of the elves having been to Mundus

The Prince of Knowledge nodded and made fine, small motions with his fingers, changing the images projected from his tome. "It is said that the Wild Hunt's approach is forewarned by a crimson comet tearing past the skies and the coming of a winter without end. Darkness covers the lands and from the heavens descends a cavalcade of horsemen, racing across the skies on mounts snorting fire. Hunting the living to serve the dead and at its vanguard rides a pale horse. And the man that sits on him is Death. And Hell follows with him."

"That sounds..." Sanguine paused for a lack of better words, "creepy...creepy enough to inspire legends and prophecies."

"Ghost riders in the sky," Clavicus let out a laugh, "ought to freak people out,"

"The image of someone mounting the world is certainly...disturbing," Sheogorath cackled, waving his hands beside his head.

"So the Wild Hunt came to Mundus and then?" Nocturnal enquired, shaking her head at Sheogorath.

"You must forgive me. The information regarding the subject is scarce and biased to say it mildly. Still, I did manage to scrounge something of value." Hermaeus informed, moving his right arm in an arch to bring forth a planet with three moons, "A red comet came to pass. Summer gave way to winter but spring never came. Clouds of ash blotted out the skies and the moons obscured the sun in a great eclipse. Ushering forth a night without end."

"We had three moons then, interesting," Meridia observed.

"There was little else, but the Wild Hunt ravaged our ancient world for decades, until..." Mora made a dramatic pause, "a hero arose blessed by light. Uniting man and mer to fight against the spectral cavalcade. They succeeded, but at great cost, and our ancient world was torn asunder. Leaving Nirn with a forgotten sister and the former soaking up the magic of the Void before it could reach the latter. Until now...that is, both because of Ciri's presence and the resurgence of dragons."

"Perhaps a precursor to the Dragonborn..." Meridia considered.

"Hold on," Azura questioned, "If that world and ours are related, how come we've not been able to influence it?"

"We do influence it, dear sister," Mora told her, "there is considerable overlap between our two worlds. Some events that happen on Nirn, create ripples in time, and influence its sister. The Oblivion Crisis and the Doom of Valyria, is such an example. Just as the emergence of Alduin has awakened their dragons. It is this spatial disruption that causes its eccentric seasons.

"Are there mer on Westeros and Essos?" Sheogorath spoke up for the first time in a while, "would be a shame if there wasn't."

"There was, but not anymore," Hermaeus informed, "the dividing of ancient Nirn displaced large swathes of ancient mer and with time, interbreeding among the larger human population caused their extinction. Some enclaves could theoretically exist in uncharted regions."

"That is just sad," Sheogorath said with mock hurt.

"We only learned about the new world and the multiverse when Alduin fell," Meridia said next, "yet, why haven't we been able to travel freely between the two, until now?

"Oh, some of our siblings have been on that world for years already."

"WHAT!" all the princes exclaimed flabbergasted by this new information.

"Molag Bal, Mehrunes Dagon, Boethiah, Namira, Vaermina and Mephala," Mora recited, "all of them have toyed with the mortals of Westeros and Essos for decades. Mephala especially."

"How?" Azura asked, being the first to have calmed down.

"Through small cracks hidden in the Veil between our worlds and their spheres of influence were already well established to begin with. That world is much more backwards than ours and has not truly felt the touch of magic. Some have even managed to establish churches of faith in their name."

"Lord of Light, Heart of Fire, God of Flame and Shadow!" Meridia said with considerable bile, "those titles belong to me!"

"Well they do call him the Red God and isn't fire associated with destruction?" Sanguine teased. Earning a glare from her flame haired sister.

"Sanctuary, guidance and life, that is what fire is and what I represent, Sanguine! It only destroys when handled by fools!" Meridia corrected, pointing a finger at the haughty Prince, "and fools are what Dagon has made out of followers rightly mine."

"Peace, Meridia. Sanguine is just her usual self," Nocturnal intervened, "Mora, when you arrived. You mentioned something about a Black Captain killing our three brothers?"

Hermaeus nodded and brought up the illustrations of three individuals clad in black armor, their faces covered in shadow. "The Black Captains of the Wild Hunt answers only to Eredin and he has bestowed upon them his cruelty, malice and will to dominate all life. Do not underestimate them, my friends."

"It just gets better and better," Clavicus commented, spitting out some grape seed.

"Yes unfortunately, Clavicus," Mora said coldly, "Dagon, Bal and Namira have sworn fealty to the Sparrowhawk."

"WHY DO YOU TELL US THIS NOW?!" Azura raged, pushing back her chair and slammed both her hands onto the table, knuckles first. "YOU SHOULD'VE INFORMED US IMMEDIATELY!"

"It was not brought up," Hermaeus answered bluntly, earning a disgusted groan from the others.

Nocturnal eyeballed the ceiling and shook her head. "Why would they throw in their lot with someone like Eredin?"

"If you can't beat them, join them," Clavicus answered, lips pulled into a sardonic smile, "those three have always been yellow bastards."

"Cowards or opportunists, it matters not. Eredin leads them and that means they are a threat," Hermaeus cut in, sweeping his hand across one of the captains.

Bringing forth the image of a tall imposing man with skin white as chalk and pale blue eyes. His face covered in scars with an exceptionally nasty one running from below his left eye, across his mouth and to his chin. His helmet and armor was equally large and imposing. Black and acid etched. Decorated with what could only be described as white bony protrusions. In his hand he held a nightmarish mace with skeletal figures surrounding the head.

"Mehrunes Dagon, now the Hammer of Eredin, representing his lust for power."

Hermaeus made Dagon disappear and brought forth what could only be described as a lord of chaos. His appearance was large and towering. His head was bald and his eyes a piercing blue. His skin a pale deathly gray and his lips appeared to have rotted away, making his lower jaw look outright necrotic. Fixed to his lower face was a metal apparatus preventing his mouth from fully closing, leaving him with a grotesque rictus. His armor seemed fused to his body, increasingly intersecting with his skin, steel plates digging into flesh, only adding to his terrifying appearance. In addition, four sword-like protrusions extended from his back in a fan pattern.

"Are you all right?" Sheogorath asked as Sanguine gagged.

Sanguine held up a hand. "I'm fine, I just threw up in my mouth a little."

"The Tower, formerly Molag Bal, he now stands for Eredin's malice," Hermaeus explained as Sanguine chugged down a bottle of wine. "They are locked in the forms they now possess. Twisted personifications of what they stand for."

"And the last one?" Azura asked.

"Eredin's deceit; the Black Hand," Mora sighed, discarding the image of the Tower, "As for more. I don't know, beside what I've told you, I simply don't know..."

The others were stunned, not even Sanguine had a reply ready for this. Rare were the times when the Keeper of Knowledge knew nothing. Usually the others would find such times highly amusing. However this was not. They were facing an enemy that could destroy them and their only hope was Azura's faith in a girl most of them barely knew.

"The Aen Elle bleed like all of us, right?" Clavicus raised his voice, "that must mean they can be killed."

Hermaeus Mora sighed, "You cannot kill a wraith, only banish it, and as it stands, that is what the Aen Elle are when they project themselves to other worlds."

"So it's all for nothing...we are truly lost?" Sanguine slumped down in her seat, seemingly to wallow in self pity.

"Not exactly," Azura exclaimed as Hermaeus closed his tome, returning the room to its natural illumination. "We still have our trump card, Ciri!"

"And what exactly do we know about Ciri, huh!?" Sanguine shot up in her seat, "Nothing! Sure Sheogorath and I might be her 'friends' saying it mildly, but may I remind you that she has amnesia. That means she doesn't remember anything and for all we know, Clavicus robbed her of whatever magic she had!"

"Sanguine," Clavicus said warmly, trying to reassure her, "She doesn't have regular amnesia, but magical amnesia!"

"What does that even mean?"

Nocturnal made a disgusted noise. "It means that she can get her entire memory back, either through extreme emotional stress or a ritual containing powerful magic."

"We can inflict pain beyond comprehension, we have powerful magic, Nocturnal!" Sanguine half yelled, "I don't see that option on the table?"

"Two reasons, Sanguine. We need her to trust us and she must perform the ritual herself, out of her own free will," Hermaeus Mora said calmly, yet loud enough for all to hear, "such is the nature of magic."

Sanguine threw her hands in the air and sunk back. "That's just fucking grand!"

"Speaking of magic," Meridia interjected, changing the topic as Sheogorath poured Sanguine a stiff drink. "Sanguine does have a point. What's to say Clavicus did not drain her? Awakening rituals can drain a subject of magicka for days on end, and when done by daedra it can be much more...severe."

"She'll be at a disadvantage, yes, especially against an enemy like the Hunt," Clavicus replied, "t'was a necessary evil, if we wish to help her,"

Sanguine scoffed after taking emptying her glass. "Why exactly is Ciri this important, she's pretty yes, but beauty is a dime a dozen?"

"Elder blood," Azura stated smugly, as if she knew more than she had let on.

"Yes, what exactly is Elder blood, Sister?" Nocturnal hissed in her twin's direction.

Azura made a gesture at Hermaeus as the others leaned forward. "Care to elaborate?"

Mora ran a hand through his hair and finally sat down in his chair. "Hen Ichaer or Elder Blood, was a eugenics experiment initiated by the Aen Saevherne, elven mages, with the purpose of creating an extraordinarily gifted child whose power would exceed their own. However the war with the Unicorns put quite a damper to that course of action and only millennia later did Elder blood resurface, following a Conjunction of the Spheres. "

"Conjunction of the Spheres?" Nocturnal questioned, taking a swill of grape wine.

"A cosmic collision between two or more parallel universes," Mora explained calmly, "the havoc wreaked by such a cataclysmic event is...unimaginable, especially for those not accustomed to native magical creatures, but highly lucrative for monster slayers."

"And Ciri?"

The Keeper of Knowledge smirked vaguely. "Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon is the only living descendant of Lara Dorren, the last elven carrier of Elder blood, and it is she who is the Child of Prophecy or Destiny...the Elder language is amusing that way."

"What exactly is this Child of Prophecy?"

"The supposed messiah of Ciri's homeworld. Something about a 'Child of Elder Blood' offering salvation from an all encompassing ice age," Hermaeus replied with a scoff, "I put no stock in prophecy, too much is lost in translation and cultural bias."

Sanguine gestured towards Hermaeus. "Elder blood does what?"

"Carriers of Elder blood are marked by extraordinary abilities. Able to access the Gate of the Worlds and wield incredible magical powers. These talents are, however, wild and uncontrollable if not mastered, manifesting themselves in times of duress. Capable of flinging travelers far in time and space. It is volatile and extremely dangerous, both to others and oneself."

"You shouldn't play with fire, but we all do nonetheless," Sheogorath quipped, "so what made Ciri the belle of this proverbial...murder ball?"

"When Lara Dorren eloped with a human, the Aen Elle regarded Elder blood as a lost cause. Yet when its powers resurfaced in Ciri, many decades later, the Aen Elle decided to renege on their lost investment."

Azura replied with derision, "Still, from what you've told us, I don't believe the Aen Elle would accept a human. No matter the percentage of elven heritage."

"Ciri has been hunted her entire life because of the legacy bestowed upon her, both by elf and man," Hermaeus continued nonchalantly, "to the Aen Elle, the end always justify the means and it is with her progeny that they will once again harness the power to unlock the Gate of the Worlds and unleash their terror upon the cosmos."

The room remained silent for a minute as the weight behind Hermaeus Mora's words settled in each of the attendants minds.

Meridia was the first to speak. "So...what you're saying is that they want to use her as a their personal...broodmare?"

"Exactly," Hermaeus shrugged his shoulders, unperturbed by the knowledge.

"Well that is straight up Molag Bal's, ballpark," Sheogorath jested inappropriately, "ain't it?"

Sanguine shook her head. "No wonder she's on the run. Imagine a group of perverts from another world hunting you through time and space, because they want to impregnate you."

"So tell me Azura," Nocturnal spoke with derision after a considerable silence, "what is it that makes Ciri our 'trump card'?"

"Without the Gate of the Worlds the Aen Elle are unable to field their entire military might and must rely on their cavalry," Hermaeus held up a finger, "Ciri lost most of her powers with her memory, but if she were to regain them, she could defeat Eredin and become the sole wielder, aside from the Unicorns, of the Gate. Able to banish the Aen Elle and seal them within Tír na nÓg...if not permanently, then for eons long enough to feel like an eternity. However this is just a hypothesis on my part. Perchance to say, she might only need to cut the head off the snake in order to stop their charge."

"There is power laying dormant in our sister world. Hiding within the Lands of Shadow," Azura enunciated, grabbing the attention of the others, "whatever lies at its heart, could prove a useful tool against the Hunt."

"One does not simply walk into the Shadow Lands. It is a blackened wasteland. Riddled with fire, ash and dust. The very air is soaked with the taint of Oblivion and whatever evil roams there. Does not sleep," Clavicus scoffed, "We've only had little time to scout that world, but know this. Ciri will not survive without help and we cannot do that overtly, lest we attract the attention of our brethren."

"What about the Aedra?" Merida brought up, "the Wild Hunt threatens them too."

"Screw the Aedra!" Sanguine said with scorn, "they'd rather sit with their thumbs up their asses even in the face of armageddon."

"What about the Dragonborn?" Clavicus spoke up.

"Unavailable," Azura replied, "and I don't believe she would be happy if we bothered her."

"I believe we should look towards the people of Westeros and Essos," Meridia interjected, picking a grape from a tray, "they could prove useful allies."

"Or powerful enemies, have you all forgotten how she looks?" Nocturnal retorted, "Ciri will draw attention, mark my words, and that is the last any of us need, least of all her."

"You're referring to the Targaryens?" Azura asked, though her reply was interrupted by Hermaeus Mora.

"Hair of gold, white and silver is not solely a Targaryen trait. It's sufficiently common in Essos, Lys especially. Why anyone would suspect her of being a Targaryen and not just one of valyrian blood is beyond me."

"That is Essos you speak of, Hermaeus," Nocturnal replied, "I doubt few in Westeros would know or care to make the distinction. Targaryen resentment is still rampant in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Nonetheless, it could be used to her advantage," Azura added, "there are still Targaryen supporters on both continents.

Clavicus cleared his throat, preparing a counter. "True, but we can't exactly pass her off as a bastard of the Mad King Aerys. The Targaryen girl in Essos has a better claim and an army to boot."

"How many have actually seen Daenerys Targaryen outside her inner circle?" Azura questioned, giving all at the table a look, "if Ciri were to...replace her...she would gain access to resources that could further her cause."

"A coup d'état takes time," Hermaeus replied, shooting down the suggestion, "time we cannot afford. No, at the moment the 'Mother of Dragons' provides an ample distraction from prying eyes."

"I have no idea who those people are," Sanguine whispered to Sheogorath as the others continued to bicker.

"You didn't read your homework?" Sheogorath mumbled, shielding his mouth with a hand, "Clavicus sent it to us a week in advance."

"Have you met me?" Sanguine pretended to be hurt. "I don't even know the name of the Dragonborn."

"Ha, well that's easy, it's..."

"Rhaegar," Meridia spoke loudly, interrupting Sheogorath. "Rhaegar Targaryen!"

The Prince of Life and Infinite Energies cleared her throat and straightened her back. "Rhaegar Targaryen was the firstborn of King Aerys. "

Meridia waited for the others attention to settle on her and brought forth an intriguing point. "We could insinuate that she's a child of his, consummated before his death, she'd be around the right age by now. It would also mean that she has a better claim than Daenerys and of course open a few doors that would ensure her continued survival."

"How would that help her?" Nocturnal cut in, "what you're suggesting is that we spread the rumor that Ciri's the child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Have you forgotten what happened to the Starks just recently?"

"I don't believe it wise to draw unwanted attention. Ciri will face enough dangers as it is," Clavicus joined in, "furthermore it's only a matter of time till someone claims she's a Targaryen anyway."

"You make a fair point," Meridia ended with a curt nod.

"Concerning Ciri's awakening ritual," Sanguine held her hand up, as if she was an unsure student, "don't they require powerful ingredients, ingredients that don't exist in Westeros or Essos?"

"For Cirilla to regain her memory. She must be Baptized by Fire and Bound by Flame," Hermaeus explained, "at the heart of a place of power."

"And how exactly would she do that?"

Hermaeus looked at the others, his lips curling up in a vague smile. "Dragon blood, she must bathe in the blood of dragons and from it arise not the Lion Cub but the Lion of Cintra."

Sanguine groaned audibly. "And how exactly would she acquire dragon blood, it does not exactly grow on trees?"

"Daenerys Targaryen has dragons, three to be exact," Clavicus informed, "although obtaining their blood could prove quite the obstacle, even for someone as skilled as Ciri."

"She needs the heart of the strongest," Hermaeus continued, "or preferably all of them if she wants to be sure that the awakening is successful."

"How long has she been on the run?" Sanguine asked some time later. The meeting had been ongoing for almost two hours and weariness was evident on all but Hermaeus and Azura's faces.

"Elder blood allows access to the Gate of the Worlds and thus time flows differently for Ciri," Hermaeus responded, raising his head from his tome, "she was sixteen when she left her homeworld and though it has felt like years have passed since then, she has only been running for five to six years."

"Damn..." Sanguine murmured as she rose from her seat with the others. The meeting between the daedra having come to an end.

Azura stood leaning across the round table, resting on her fingertips, she sighed deeply as she took in its surface. It was a mess. Food and drink was scattered across the tabletop together with scrolls and tomes of varying size. Rubbing her eyes she set he graze upon a drawing of Ciri, the girl they had put their faith in.

"Dragon's huh," she spoke loudly as only Hermaeus remained, standing at the entrance, ready to close the doors and leave. "It seems like only yesterday when they awakened."

"Dragon's reappearing is hardly surprising Azura, they are like bees and magic their pollen." Hermaeus looked at his sister with his black eyes and gave her one of his rare smirks. "It is the Dawn of the Dragon Age and its songs are ones of ice and fire."

The Prince of Dusk and Dawn groaned in faux annoyance as her brother closed the entrance doors, leaving her alone to contemplate the group's next course of action. Some of their siblings were still neutral in the conflict and it was only a matter of time before they chose a side. Namira, Molag Bal and Mehrunes Dagon now served the King of the Wild Hunt. Was it part of some nefarious plan of theirs or were they truly under Eredin's thrall, Azura did not know. However, if what she had learned of the King was anywhere near the truth. She knew that he would gladly sacrifice any piece on the chessboard to take the queen.

* * *

This chapter is exposition heavy, I know, but it is done for the story to really begin with the next chapter. Though an update might take a while as I'll now focus on my story **Force Rising**. Witcher 3 is also on the horizon and that will take out good chunks of my spare time.

I based Hermaeus Mora on the Outsider from Dishonored. Azura on Galadriel and Clavicus Vile on Marvel Loki. Mehrunes Dagon and Molag Bal as you most likely have figured out are the Hammer and the Tower from Shadow of Mordor. Since the King of the Wild Hunt looks kind of like Sauron in Witcher 3, I found it fitting.

Many fanfics treat platinum blonde/silver-gold hair and purple eyes as if it is exclusive to the Targaryen. Even though there are numerous examples in the books of characters with similar features. It just means one has Valyrian ancestry. However it is unlikely many in Westeros know this, least of all Arya and the Hound

As for my plans concerning Ciri and the Targaryens? That is entirely depended on the series' inclusion of Young Griff. Either way I could've people believe Ciri to be either a bastard of Aerys II or Rhaegar, thus gaining the interest of anti and pro-Targaryen parties. Or she could be mistaken for a Dayne, though where's the fun in that.

If I could, right here and now, make a big budget adaptation of the Witcher franchise. My dream cast - purely based on looks - would be Luke Evans as Geralt, Eva Green as Yennefer, Orlando Bloom as Iorveth (watch Zulu/Cape Town Cops if you doubt his acting skills), John Rhys-Davies as Zoltan (LOTR reunion FTW) and Steve Valentine as Dandelion. Alexandra Daddario could be Ciri, for she is just flawless and her eyes are truly mesmerizing. As for the rest, I don't know, this was just for fun.


End file.
